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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b33ee10 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64964 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64964) diff --git a/old/64964-0.txt b/old/64964-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 263d01b..0000000 --- a/old/64964-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8492 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of In Exitu Israel, Volume 1 (of 2), by Sabine -Baring-Gould - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: In Exitu Israel, Volume 1 (of 2) - An Historical Novel - -Author: Sabine Baring-Gould - -Release Date: March 30, 2021 [eBook #64964] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: David Edwards, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN EXITU ISRAEL, VOLUME 1 (OF -2) *** - - - - - IN EXITU ISRAEL. - - - - - [Illustration: (Colophon)] - - - - - IN EXITU ISRAEL - - _AN HISTORICAL NOVEL_ - - - BY - - S. BARING-GOULD, M.A. - - Author of ‘_Curious Myths of the Middle Ages_,’ - ‘_Origin and Development of Religious Belief_,’ - ‘_The Silver Store_,’ _&c._, _&c._ - - - VOL. I - - - London - MACMILLAN AND CO. - 1870 - - - - - OXFORD: - - BY T. COMBE, M.A., E. B. GARDNER, E. P. HALL, AND H. LATHAM, M.A., - - PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. - - - - - DEDICATED - - TO - - THE MEMORY OF THE LATE - - COUNT CHARLES DE MONTALEMBERT - - BY - - ONE WHO, FROM A DISTANCE, HAS LOVED AND ADMIRED HIS LIFE, - HIS PRINCIPLES, AND HIS WRITINGS. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - Page - PREFACE. vii - CHAPTER I. 1 - CHAPTER II. 20 - CHAPTER III. 34 - CHAPTER IV. 51 - CHAPTER V. 65 - CHAPTER VI. 79 - CHAPTER VII. 96 - CHAPTER VIII. 110 - CHAPTER IX. 122 - CHAPTER X. 138 - CHAPTER XI. 150 - CHAPTER XII. 163 - CHAPTER XIII. 179 - CHAPTER XIV. 183 - CHAPTER XV. 197 - CHAPTER XVI. 210 - CHAPTER XVII. 232 - CHAPTER XVIII. 244 - CHAPTER XIX. 260 - CHAPTER XX. 275 - - - - - PREFACE. - - -There is a side to the History of the French Revolution which is too -generally overlooked--its ecclesiastical side. - -Under the _ancien régime_, the disadvantages of an Establishment -produced a strong party of liberal Catholics prepared for a radical -change in the relations between Church and State. - -It was this party which organized that remarkable Constitutional -Church, at once Republican and Catholic, which sustained Religion -through the Reign of Terror, and which Pope Pius VII and Napoleon I -combined to overthrow. - -My object in writing this story is to illustrate the currents of -feeling in the State and Church of France in 1789, currents not -altogether unlike those now circulating in our own. It was my good -fortune, during a recent visit to Normandy, to collect materials for -a history of a representative character of that eventful period,--one -Thomas Lindet, parish priest of Bernay. In writing his story, I do -not present him to the reader as a model. He had great faults; but -one can forgive much on account of his enthusiastic love of justice, -and faith in his cause. - -That my story may be taken to convey a moral, is possible. But let -me disclaim any intention of preaching a lesson to the aristocracy; -I believe that they do not need it. In France, the crown supported -the nobility; in England, the nobility support the crown. The -French aristocracy was a privileged class, exempt from the burden -of taxation. In England, the heaviest burden falls on the holders -of landed property. With us, the privileged class is that of the -manufacturer and trader. The French nobility never made common cause -with the people against the encroachments of the royal prerogative. -The English barons wrung Magna Charta from reluctant John. Henry VIII -would never have been able to consolidate the power in his despotic -hands, had not the civil wars of the Roses broken the strength of the -aristocracy. Since then the nobility have made the cause of right -and liberty their own, and a limited monarchy is the result. - -The moral, if moral there must be, is this: In times when the -relations between Church and State are precarious, coercive measures -are certain to force on a rupture. - -Of late, repression has been employed freely on a portion of the -community, and this has suddenly created a liberation party which -three years ago scarcely existed within the Church and the ranks of -the clergy. - -The English curate is as much at the mercy of the Bishop as was, and -is still, the French curé; and this he has been made painfully aware -of. - -In the Wesleyan revival, a body of earnest men who moved for a -relaxation of the icy bonds of Establishmentarianism were thrust -forth into schism. The first Tractarians were driven to Rome by the -hardness of their spiritual rulers. At present, a party, peculiarly -narrow, and rapidly dying, by means of a packed Privy Council, are -engaged in hunting out and repressing the most active section of the -Church. - -Worship is the language of conviction. To a large and rapidly -increasing body of Anglicans, Christ is not, as He is to Protestants, -a mere historical personage, the founder of Christianity, but is the -centre of a religious system, the ever-present object of adoration -for His people. A passionate love of Christ has floreated into -splendour of worship. To curtail liberty of worship is to touch the -rights of conscience; and to interfere with them has ever led to -disastrous consequences--such is the verdict of History. - -A feverish eagerness to dissever Church and State has broken out -among clergy and laity, and a schism would be the result, were the -chain uniting Church and State indissoluble; but, as events of late -years have made it clear, that with a little concerted energy the -old rust-eaten links can be snapped, there will be no schism, but a -united effort will be made by a body of resolute spirits within the -Church to tear asunder crown and mitre. The disestablishment of the -English Church will present a future absent from that of the Irish -Church. In the latter case, there was an unanimous opposition to the -measure by all within it; but, in the event of the severance of the -union in England, it will take place amid the joyous acclamations of -no inconsiderable section of its best and truest sons. - -If, from the following pages, it appears that my sympathies are with -the National Assembly, and those who upset the _ancien régime_, it -does not follow that they are with the Revolution in its excesses. -The true principles of the Revolution are embodied in the famous -Declaration of the Rights of Man. ‘Write at the head of that -Declaration the name of God’ said Grégoire; ‘or you establish rights -without duties, which is but another thing for proclaiming force to -be supreme.’ The Assembly refused. Grégoire was right. - -Robespierre, Danton, and his clique made force supreme--as supreme as -in the days of the Monarchy, and trampled on the rights, to protect -which they had been raised into power. - -A Republic is one thing: the despotism of an Autocracy or of a -Democracy is another thing. - -I propose following up this historical romance by a life of the Abbé -Grégoire, which will illustrate the position of the Constitutional -Church, of which he was the soul. - -I have chosen the form of fiction for this sketch, as it best enables -me to exhibit the state of feeling in France in 1788 and 1789. That -is no fiction; the incidents related and the characters introduced -are, for the most part, true to History. - - S. B-G. - - DALTON, THIRSK, - _March 25th, 1870_. - - - - - IN EXITU ISRAEL. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -The forests that at the present day cover such a considerable portion -of the department of Eure, and which supply the great manufacturing -cities on the Seine with fuel, were of much greater extent in the -eighteenth century. The fragments of forest which now extend from -Montfort to Breteuil were then united, and stretched in one almost -unbroken green zone from the Seine to the Arve, following the course -of the little river Rille. A spur struck off at Serquigny, and traced -the confluent Charentonne upwards as far as Broglie. - -The little town of Bernay is no longer hemmed in by woods. The -heights and the valley of the Charentonne are still well timbered, -and green with copse and grove; the landscape is park-like; here and -there a fine old oak with rugged bark and expanded arms proclaims -itself a relic of the _ancien régime_; but the upstart poplars -whitening in the wind along the river course spire above these -venerable trees. The roads lie between wheat and potato fields, and -the names of hamlets, such as Bosc, Le Taillis, Le Buisson, Bocage, -La Couture, &c., alone proclaim that once they lay embedded in forest -foliage. - -On the eve of the Great French Revolution, Bernay was a manufacturing -town, that had gradually sprung up during the middle ages, around -the walls of the great Benedictine Abbey which the Duchess Judith -of Brittany had founded in 1013, and endowed with nearly all the -surrounding forest. The town was unhealthy. It lay in a hollow, and -the monks had dammed up the little stream Cogney, which there met the -Charentonne, to turn their mill wheel, and had converted a portion -of the valley into a marsh, in which the frogs croaked loudly and -incessantly. - -When the abbot was resident, the townsfolk were required to beat the -rushes and silence the noisy reptiles every summer night; but now -that the Superior resided at Dax, this requirement was not pressed. - -After a heavy downfall of rain, the rivulet was wanting to swell -into a torrent, overflow the dam, and flood the streets of Bernay, -carrying with it such an amount of peat that every house into which -the water penetrated was left, after its retreat, plastered with -black soil, and, in spring, smeared with frog-spawn. - -The mill was privileged. No other was permitted in the neighborhood. -When M. Chauvin erected a windmill on the hill of Bouffey, the monks -brought an action against him, and made him dismantle it. All the -corn that grew within five miles was ground at the Abbey mill, and -every tenth bag was taken by the Fathers in payment for grinding the -corn indifferently and at their leisure. At certain seasons, more -wheat was brought to the mill than the mill could grind, because the -water had run short, or the stones were out of repair, consequently -many thousands of hungry people had to wait in patience till the -Cogney filled, or till the mill-stones had been re-picked, whilst the -gutted windmill of M. Chauvin stood in compulsory inaction. - -The great and little tithes of Bernay went to the Abbey; and out -of them the monks defrayed the expense of a curate for the parish -church of S. Cross. This church had been built by the town in 1372, -by permission of the Abbey, on condition that the parish should bear -the charge of its erection, and the abbot should appoint the curate; -that the parish should be responsible for the repair of the fabric -and the conduct of divine service, and that the Abbey should pay to -the incumbent the _portion congrue_ of the tithes. The incumbent of -Bernay was, throughout the middle ages and down to the suppression of -the monastery, a salaried curate only, without independent position, -and receiving from the Abbey a sum which amounts in modern English -money to about fifty pounds, and out of this he was required to -pay at least two curates or _vicaires_. This sorry pittance would -have been miserable enough, had the curé been provided with a -parsonage-house rent free; but with this the Abbey did not furnish -him, and he was obliged to lodge where he could, and live as best he -could on the crumbs that fell from the abbot’s table. - -The parishioners of Bernay had made several attempts to free their -church from its dependence, but in vain. The monks refused to cede -their rights, and every lawsuit in which the town engaged with them -terminated disastrously for the citizens. The people of Bernay -were severely taxed. Beside the intolerable burdens imposed on -them by the State, they paid tithes on all they possessed to the -monks, who assessed them as they thought proper, and against whose -assessment there was no appeal, as the abbot of Bernay exercised -legal jurisdiction in the place, and every question affecting -ecclesiastical dues was heard in his own court. The corn was tithed -in the field, and tithed again at the mill. The Abbey had rights of -_corvée_, that is, of claiming so many days’ work from every man in -the place, and on its farms, free of expense. The townsfolk, who were -above the rank of day labourers, escaped the humiliation only by -paying men out of their own pockets, to take their places and work -for the Fathers. - -It was hard for the citizens, after having been thus taxed by the -Church, to have to expend additional money to provide themselves with -religious privileges. Bernay might have been a far more prosperous -town but for the Abbey, which, like a huge tumour, ate up the -strength and resources of the place, and gave nothing in return. - -The Abbey was also _en commende_; in other words, it was a donative -of the Crown. Whom he would, the king made superior of the monks of -S. Benedict at Bernay,--superior only in name, and for the purpose -of drawing its revenues, for he was not a monk, nor indeed was he in -other than minor orders. Louis XV, whose eye for beauty was satisfied -with a Du Barry, having been fascinated by the plump charms of Madame -Poudens, wife of a rich jeweler at Versailles, attempted to seduce -her. The lady estimated her virtue at a rich abbey, and finally -parted with it for that of Bernay, which was made over _in commendam_ -to a son, whether by Poudens or Louis was not clearly known, but who, -at the age of seven, in defiance of the concordat of Francis I with -the Pope, was made abbé of Bernay, father superior of Benedictine -monks, and entitled to draw an income of fifty-seven thousand livres -per annum, left by Duchess Judith to God and the poor. The case was -by no means uncommon, Charles of Valois, bastard of Charles IX and -Marie Fouchet, at the age of thirteen was invested with the revenues -of Chaise-Dieu, and Henry IV bartered an abbey for a mistress. - -Thomas Lindet was curé of S. Cross. - -The introduction of the power loom from England had produced much -want and discontent in Normandy, and in Bernay many hands were thrown -out of work. The sickness and famine which had periodically afflicted -that town of late years became permanent, and the poor priest was -condemned to minister in the presence of want and disease, without -the power of alleviating either, whilst the revenues of the Church -were drained to fill the purse of the non-resident abbé, and by him -to be squandered on luxuries and vanities. - -Lindet had more than once expressed his opinion upon the abuses -regnant in the Church. In 1781, in a discourse addressed by him to -the general assembly of his parish, he had said:--‘We desire that -justice should be brought to bear upon these abuses, which outrage -common sense and common right, at once. But is there any hope in the -future of an accomplishment of our desires? At present, all is dark; -but never let us despair. We groan under oppression. But be sure -of this,--wrong-doing revenges itself in the long run. We wish to -abolish the intolerable privileges which burden some, that others may -trip lightly through life. Alas! the privileged classes are jealous -of our jealousy of them. They scarce permit us to pray the advent of -a rectification of abuses, which will prove as glorious to religion -as it will prove beneficial to society. Who will put salt upon the -leeches, and make them disgorge the blood of the poor?’ - -For having used this language the curé had been severely reprimanded -by his bishop; for bishops were then, as they are frequently now, the -champions of abuses. - -At the present date, Lindet was again in trouble with his diocesan. -For three days in succession the sanctuary lamp in his church had -remained unlighted. The reason was, that the curé’s cruse of oil was -empty; and not the cruse only, but his purse as well. He had neither -oil by him, nor money wherewith to buy any; the lamp therefore -remained dark. Lindet hoped that some of his parishioners would come -forward, and furnish the sacramental light with a supply of oil, and -this eventually took place; but, in the meantime, three days and -nights of violation of the rubric had elapsed. The _officiel_ or -inquisitor of the bishop heard of this, and called on Thomas Lindet, -the day before the opening of this tale, to inform him that it was at -his option to pay down twenty-five livres for the misdemeanour, or to -be thrown into the ecclesiastical court. - -Under the _ancien régime_, a large portion of a bishop’s revenues was -derived from ecclesiastical fines imposed by his court, and into this -court cases of immorality, heresy and sacrilege among the laity, and -of infringement of rubrical exactness, and breach of discipline among -the clergy, were brought. As the prosecutor was also virtually the -judge, it may be supposed that judgment was usually given against the -defendant, who might appeal to the archbishop, or from him to the -pope,--all interested judges, but who was debarred from carrying his -wrong before a secular tribunal. - -The sun was declining behind the pines, and was painting with saffron -the boles of the trees, and striping with orange and purple the -forest paths, as Thomas Lindet prepared to part from his friend Jean -Lebertre, curé of the pilgrimage shrine of Notre Dame de la Couture, -at the brow of the hill where the path to the Couture forked off from -the main road to Bernay. At this point the trees fell away towards -the valley, and the shrine was visible, lit in the last lights of -evening which turned the grey stone walls into walls of gold. - -La Couture is a singularly picturesque church, with lofty choir -rising high above the nave roof, and with numerous chapels clustered -about the chancel apse. The spire of lead with pinnacled turrets, in -that setting glare, seemed a pyramid of flames. - -The priest of Bernay was a tall thin man of forty-five, with -colourless face, sunken cheeks, and restless, very brilliant eyes. -His face, though far from handsome, was interesting and attractive. -It beamed with intelligence and earnestness. His long hair, -flowing to his shoulders, was grizzled with care rather than with -age,--the care inseparable from poverty, and that arising from the -responsibilities attending on the charge of a number of souls. His -brow was slightly retreating and wanted breadth, his cheek-bones -were high. The nose and mouth were well moulded, the latter was -peculiarly delicate and flexible. The thin lips were full of -expression, and trembled with every emotion of the heart. - -Lindet’s hands were also singularly beautiful--they were narrow and -small; a lady would have envied the taper fingers and well-shaped -nails. Malicious people declared that the priest was conscious of -the perfection of his hands, and that he took pains to exhibit it; -but this was most untrue. No man was more free from vanity, and had -a greater contempt for it, than Thomas Lindet. He had contracted -a habit of using his right hand whilst speaking, in giving force -to his words by gesture, and whilst thinking, in plucking at the -cassock-buttons on his breast, but this trick was symptomatic of a -highly-strung nervous temperament, and was in no degree attributable -to personal vanity. - -Lebertre was somewhat of a contrast to Lindet. He was a middle-sized, -well-built man, with a face of an olive hue, hazel eyes, large, -as earnest as those of his friend, but not like them in their -restlessness; they were deep, calm wells, which seemed incapable of -being ruffled by anger, or clouded with envy. His black hair was -flowing and glossy, without a speck in it of grey. ‘I would not do -so,’ said he, holding Lindet’s arm; ‘you should bear meekly, and -suffer patiently.’ - -‘Bear and suffer!’ repeated the curé of S. Cross, his eyes lightening -and his lips quivering; ‘True. “Suffering is the badge of all our -tribe.” What the English poet puts into the mouth of a Jew is a motto -meet for a French curé. But, my brother, tell me--are not wrongs and -sufferings crushing us, destroying our self-reliance, ruining our -independence, and obliterating our self-respect? How can a priest be -respected by his flock when he does not respect himself; and how can -he respect himself when he is trodden like dirt under the feet of his -spiritual superiors?’ - -‘Bearing wrongs and suffering injustice without a murmur is the badge -of a Christian; above all, of a priest. He who suffers and endures -uncomplainingly is certain to obtain respect and reverence.’ - -‘A pretty world this has become,’ exclaimed Lindet; ‘the poor are -ground to powder, and at each turn of the wheel we are bidden preach -them Christian submission. They look around, and see everywhere -labour taxed, and idleness go free. Toil then like a Christian, and -pay, pay, pay, that the king may make fountains for his garden, the -nobles may stake high at cards, and the bishops and canons may salary -expensive cooks. Say the little farmer has a hundred francs. Out of -this he is obliged to pay twenty-five for the taille, sixteen for -the accessories, fifteen for his capitation, eleven for tithe. What -remains to him for the support of his family, after he has paid his -rent? Truly of this world may be said what is said of hell: “_Nullus -ordo, sempiternus horror inhabitat_”’ - -Lebertre did not answer. With the steadfastness of purpose that was -his characteristic, he returned to his point, and refused to be led -into digression by his vehement and volatile companion. ‘You must not -go to Évreux, as you propose,’ he said. - -‘I shall go to the bishop,’ returned Lindet; ‘and I shall give him -the money into his hand. I shall have the joy, the satisfaction, may -be, of seeing, for once in my life, a bishop’s cheek burn with shame.’ - -‘Is this a Christian temper?’ - -‘Is it the part of a Christian bishop to consume his clergy with -exactions and with persecutions, and to torture them with insults? -Our bishop neglects his diocese. He receives some four hundred and -fifty thousand livres per annum, and can only visit Bernay, with five -thousand souls in it, once in three years, to confirm the young and -to meet the clergy. When he comes amongst us on these rare occasions -he takes up his abode at the Abbey, and receives us, the priests who -seek advice and assistance, at a formal interview of ten minutes, -into which we must condense our complaints; and then we are dismissed -without sympathy and without redress.’ - -Lindet took a few steps along the path to La Couture. ‘I will -accompany you, Jean,’ he said; ‘and I will tell you how I was treated -when last I had access to Monseigneur. He sat at a little table; -on it was a newspaper and a hand-bell, and his large gold watch. -He signed to me to stand before him; I did so, holding my hands -behind my back like a boy who is about to be scolded. He asked me -some trifling question about my health, which I did not answer. I -could not afford to waste one out of my ten minutes thus; so I broke -out into an account of our troubles here. I told him there was no -school for the children; that I had no parsonage house. God knows! I -would teach the poor children myself if they could be crowded into -my garret, but the good woman with whom I lodge will not permit -it. I told him of the want and misery here, of the exactions under -which the poor are bowed. I spoke to him of the hollow-eyed hungry -workmen, and of the women hugging their starving babes to their empty -breasts.’ The priest stopped, gasping for an instant, his trembling -white hand working in the air, and expressing his agitation with mute -eloquence. ‘All the while I talked, his eye was on the newspaper; I -saw that he was reading, and was not attending to me. What he read -was an account of a fête at Versailles, from which, alas! he was -absent. Then he touched his bell. “Your time is up,” he said; and I -was bowed out.’ - -‘You forget that the time of a prelate is precious.’ - -‘I grant you that,’ answered Lindet, with quivering voice; ‘too -precious to be spent amidst a crowd of lackeys in dancing attendance -on royalty; too precious to be wasted on fêtes and dinners to all -the lordlings that Monseigneur can gather about his table in the -hopes that they may shed some lustre on his own new-fledged nobility.’ - -‘I will not hear you, my friend,’ said Lebertre, turning from him; -‘you are too bitter, too vindictive. You would tear our bishops from -their seats, and strip them of their purple.’ - -‘Of their purple and fine linen and sumptuous faring every day, that -Lazarus may be clothed and fed!’ interrupted Lindet, passionately. - -‘You would abolish the episcopacy and convert the Church to -presbyterianism,’ said the curé of La Couture with a slight tone of -sarcasm. - -‘Never,’ answered the priest of S. Cross; his voice instantly -becoming calm, and acquiring a depth and musical tone like that in -which he was wont to chant. ‘No, Lebertre, never. I would preserve -the ancient constitution of the Church, but I would divest it of all -its State-given position and pomp. I would have our bishops to be our -pastors and overseers, and not our lords and tyrants. I reverence -authority, but I abhor autocracy. David went forth in the might of -God to fight the Philistine; Saul lent him his gilded armour, but the -shepherd put it off him--he could not go in that cumbrous painted -harness. With his shepherd’s staff and sling he slew the giant. Woe -be it! the Church has donned the golden armour wherewith royalty has -invested her, and crushed beneath the weight, it lies prostrate at -the feet of the enemy.’ - -Lindet walked on fast, weaving his fingers together and then shaking -them apart. - -‘But let me continue what I had to tell you of the bishop’s visit -here,’ he said. ‘I was walking down the Rue des Jardins an hour after -my reception, with my head sunk on my bosom, and--I am not ashamed -to add--with my tears flowing. I wept, for I was humbled myself, -and ashamed for the Church. Then suddenly I felt a sting across my -shoulders, as I heard a shout. I started from my reverie to find -myself almost under the feet of the horses of a magnificent carriage -with postilions and outriders in livery, that dashed past in a cloud -of dust. I stood aside and saw my bishop roll by in conversation -with M. Berthier, laughing like a fool. My shoulders tingled for an -hour with the lash of the post-boy’s whip, but the wound cut that -day into my heart is quivering and bleeding still.’ As he spoke, he -and his friend came suddenly upon a wayside crucifix which had been -erected at the confines of the parish as a station for pilgrims, in a -patch of clearing. The pines rose as a purple wall behind it, but the -setting sun bathed the figure of the Saviour in light, and turned to -scarlet the mat of crimson pinks which had rooted themselves in the -pedestal. - -Lebertre pressed the hand of his agitated companion, and pointed up -at the Christ, whilst an expression of faith and devotion brightened -his own countenance. He designed to lead the thoughts of Lindet to -the great Exemplar of patient suffering, but the curé of S. Cross -mistook his meaning. He stood as one transfixed, before the tall -gaunt crucifix, looking up at the illumined figure. Then, extending -his arms, he cried, ‘Oh Jesus Christ! truly Thou wast martyred by -the bishops and aristocrats of Thy day; smitten, insulted, condemned -to death by Annas and Caiaphas, the high priests, and by Pilate, the -imperial governor. Verily, Thy body the Church bleeds at the present -day, sentenced and tortured by their successors in Church and State.’ - -Before the words had escaped his lips, a cry, piercing and full of -agony, thrilled through the forest. - -Lindet and Lebertre held their breath. In another instant, from -a footpath over which the bushes closed, burst a peasant girl, -parting the branches, and darting to the crucifix, she flung herself -before it, clasping her arms around the trunk, and in so doing -overturning a flower-basket on her arm, and strewing the pedestal and -kneeling-bench with bunches of roses. - -She was followed closely by a large man, richly dressed, who sprang -towards her, cast his arms round her waist, and attempted to drag -her from her hold. ‘Sacré! you sweet little wench. If persuasion and -flattery fail, why, force must succeed.’ And he wrenched one of her -bare brown arms from the cross. She cast a despairing look upward -at the thorn-crowned head which bowed over her and the seducer, and -uttered another piteous wail for help. - -At the same moment, the sun passed behind some bars of fog on the -horizon, and the light it flung changed instantly from yellow to -blood-red. The figure of the Christ was a miserable work of art, of -the offensive style prevalent at the period, contorted with pain, -the face drawn, and studded with huge clots of blood. In the scarlet -light it shone down on those below as though it were carved out of -flame, and menaced wrathfully. - -The girl still clung to the cross with one arm. She was dressed in a -short blue woollen skirt that left unimpeded her ankles and feet, a -black bodice laced in front, exposing the coarse linen sleeves and -shift gathered over the bosom about the throat. Her white frilled -Normandy cap, with its broad flaps, was disturbed, and some locks of -raven hair fell from beneath it over her slender polished neck. The -oval sun-browned face was exquisitely beautiful. The large dark eyes -were distended with terror, and the lips were parted. - -‘Mon Dieu! do you think that those frail arms can battle with mine?’ -asked the pursuer with mocking composure, as he drew the other arm -from the stem of the cross, and holding both at the wrists, pressed -them back at the girl’s side so as to force her to face him. - -‘Look at me,’ he said, in the same bantering tone; ‘can your -pestilent little village produce so wealthy and promising a lover as -me? Your Jacques and Jeans have but a few liards in their purses, and -can only offer you a pinchbeck ring; but I’--he disengaged one hand, -whilst he felt in his pocket and produced a purse; ‘whilst I--Ha! -listen to the chink, chink, chink! You do not know the language of -money, do you? Well, I will interpret; chink, chink--that means silk -dresses, satin shoes, dainty meats, and sweet bonbons. Now then!’ he -exclaimed, as she made a struggle to escape. - -‘Now then,’ repeated Thomas Lindet, who, quick as thought, strode -between the man and his prey. He released the child; and placing her -beside him, with a lip that curled with scorn, he removed his huge -shovel hat, and bowing almost double, with a sweep of the hat, said, -‘M. Berthier! the little one and I bid you good evening!’ - -Then he drew back, extending his arm and hat as an ægis over the girl. - -The gentleman stood as if petrified, and looked at them. He was a -tall man, largely made, very big-boned, with his hair powdered and -fastened behind by a black silk bow. His face was closely shaven, -the nose short, the upper lip very long and arched. But the most -conspicuous feature of his face were his eyes, set in red and raw -sockets. As he stood and looked at the priest, he mechanically drew -a handkerchief from his pocket, and proceeded with a corner of it to -wipe the tender lids. - -His coat was of maroon velvet edged and frogged with gold braid, his -waistcoat was of white satin, and his hat was three-cornered and -covered with lace. He wore a rapier at his side; and he was evidently -a man of distinction. - -‘Come, Lebertre, my friend,’ said Lindet, cheerfully, without taking -any more notice of the gentleman; ‘I will accompany you and help to -protect this damsel.’ The girl had lost one of her sabots, but in the -excess of her fear she walked along unconscious of her loss. The curé -of La Couture strode on one side of her, and the priest of Bernay -paced on the other, supporting her with their hands, for her limbs -shook with agitation, and, if unassisted, she would have fallen. - -‘I know her,’ said Lebertre to his friend, ‘she is little Gabrielle -André, and lives down by the river with her father, who is a farmer -of the Abbey.’ - -Lindet looked across at his companion, with a glad light dancing in -his eyes, and raising one hand heavenwards he exclaimed: ‘Did I not -say that the Church in all her members suffers and bleeds? Would, -dear friend, that, as we have rescued this poor child out of the -hands of a betrayer, we might also rescue the poor Church from her -seducers!’ - -Lebertre did not answer; but after a while he said solemnly, and with -an air of deep conviction: ‘Lindet! did you mark how, at the cry of -the child, the head of the Christ shook and frowned?’ - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -The Charentonne in its meanderings forms a number of islets. The -stream is in itself inconsiderable, but it spreads itself through its -shallow valley like a tangled skein, and cuts up the meadows with -threads of water easily crossed on plank-bridges. - -Much of the land in the bottom is marsh, into which a rill dives and -disappears, but other portions are firm alluvial soil, producing rich -crops of grass, flax, and here and there patches of corn. - -On one of these islands, if islands they may be called, above the -hamlet of La Couture, stood a cottage, in style resembling those we -meet with in the southern counties of England, constructed of black -timber and white plaster, and thatched. To the south, at its back, -lay a dense growth of willow and poplar, screening the house from the -sun, and giving it in winter a moist and mouldy appearance, but in -summer one cool and refreshing. A considerable flower-garden occupied -the front of the cottage, filled with superb roses, white, yellow, -and red. Tall white and scarlet lilies leaned against the house, -whose thatch was golden with house-leek, so that in the flower season -the Isle des Hirondelles attracted the admiration of all who passed -along the road to Ferrières. - -In this cottage lived Matthias André, father of Gabrielle, whom the -two priests are conducting across the foot-bridge towards him. - -He was cleaning out the cow-house as they approached, littering -fresh straw in the stall from which he had forked the manure. He -was a middle-sized man, clad in knee-breeches and blue worsted -half-stockings that covered the calves, but were cut short at the -ankles. His sabots, which shod his otherwise bare feet, were stained -and clotted with soil. His coarse linen shirt was open at the throat, -exposing his hairy breast, and the sleeves were rolled to the elbows, -so as to give free play to his brown muscular arms. A large felt -hat, out of which the sun had extracted the colour, lay on the bench -before the door, and his head was covered with a blue knitted conical -cap, the peak and tassel of which hung over his right ear. - -Labour and exposure had bronzed and corrugated the features of -Matthias, oppression and want had stamped on them an expression of -sullen despair. His brow was invariably knit, and his eyes were -permanently depressed. He muttered to himself as he worked: he never -sang, for his heart was never light. How can the heart be light that -is weighed down, and galled with chains? The life of the peasant -before the French Revolution was the life of a slave; he could not -laugh, he could not even smile, for he had to struggle for bare -existence with exactions which strangled him. He and his sons were -like Laocoon and his children in the coils of the serpent that was -laced round their limbs, that breathed poison into their lungs, and -sucked the lifeblood from their hearts; and that serpent was the -_Ancien Régime_. - -Louis VI had enfranchised the serfs on the royal domain, and the -nobles, after his example, gradually released theirs, finding that -the peasant, with liberty and hope, worked better than the slave, -and made the land more valuable. To them they sold or rented some of -their acres. In 1315 appeared the order of Louis X, requiring all the -nobles to emancipate their serfs, because ‘every man should be born -free; therefore let the lords who have rights over the persons of -men, take example from us, and bring all to freedom.’ - -The nobles, determined by their interest, obeyed; but down to 1789 -serfs remained in France;--it was from the hands of the Church -that the Revolution liberated them. To the last, the canons of the -Cathedral of S. Claude, in Franche-Comté, refused to emancipate their -slaves from the feudal right of _main morte_, which placed human -beings, ransomed by the blood of Christ, on a level with the cattle. -In Jura there were as many as ten thousand; but in Normandy serfage -had disappeared in the thirteenth century. The serf became a small -farmer, and free;--but at what price? The land was his on condition -of paying a rent. Charges also, _real_, that is, paid in money or in -fruits, and _personal_, that is, acquitted by service rendered free -of expense to the landlord, weighed on the agriculturist. - -The imposts which oppressed him were these:--First, the _Taille_ or -tax. Of this there were two kinds, the _taux_ and the _taillon_. -From these taxes the nobles and the churchmen were exempt. Of nobles -there were in France some 83,000, and of churchmen some 200,000. The -capitation was an impost direct and personal, which touched all. -Calculated upon the presumed value of land and property which was -taxable, it was arbitrary, and those who had access to, and credit -with, the officers of comptrol, were lightly rated, whilst those -without interest were obliged to pay according to an exaggerated -estimate. By a succession of injustices, also, the capitation of some -was fixed, whilst that of others varied. The duty of tenth was levied -nominally on all; but nobles and ecclesiastics were privileged, and -paid nothing on their woods, meadows, vines, and ponds, nor on arable -land belonging to the home farm. - -The _Corvée_, also, weighed only on the peasant. The name, according -to etymologists, indicates the posture of a man bowed at the hardest -labour. He who was amenable to the _corvée_ was required to work -himself, and make his horses and oxen work, for his landlord and for -government. By this means the roads and other public works were kept -in repair. - -Two grand sources of public revenue were the _Gabelle_ and the -_Excise_. The gabelle, or monopoly of salt, pressed upon the peasant -in two ways. The father of the family, obliged to pay for salt which -he needed a price fifty times its value, was also required, under -pain of imprisonment, to purchase a certain amount, determined by -the clerks, and fixed according to the presumed consumption of his -family. If he failed to purchase the requisite amount, or if he was -suspected of being in possession of contraband goods, at any time of -the day his house might be invaded by the officers of the Excise, and -its contents examined. - -The feudal rights to grinding the corn, and pressing the grapes and -apples, were also grievous restrictions on the liberty of the farmer -and peasant. His landlord might imprison him for crushing the wheat -he grew in a hand-quern, and for squeezing enough apples to fill a -bottle with cider. - -The _Champart_ was another feudal right. The farmer was bound to -yield to his lord not only a share of his harvest, but also he was -not permitted to reap and garner his own corn till the portion due to -the proprietor had been removed from his field. In addition to all -these burdens came the _Tithe_; wheat, barley, rye, and oats were at -first alone tithable. But the conversion of arable land into pasture -and into fields of lucerne, sanfoin, and clover, to escape this tax, -affected the income of the clergy, and they claimed the right of -taking the tenth of cattle and of tithing wool. Nobles and roturiers -resisted this claim, and numerous law-suits were the result,--suits -rendered so expensive by the corruptions existing in courts of -justice, that the vast majority of sufferers paid the tenth of their -goods to the clergy rather than risk all to the lawyers. - -Matthias André removed his blue cap to the curés as they approached. -He bore them no grudge,--they were fellow-sufferers; but he was wont -to grind his teeth as the nobleman or the provost drove by, and he -would curse the monk who came to exact the convent dues. - -‘Good evening to you, neighbour André,’ said Jean Lebertre; ‘we have -brought you your daughter. She is a little upset, frightened by the -impertinence of a--well, of a gentleman.’ - -‘Of a rascal,’ interrupted Lindet. - -‘She shall tell you the story,’ said the priest of La Couture, -thrusting the girl forward; ‘she can do so better than I; all I know -of it is, that my friend here rescued her from a gentleman who was -treating her with insolence.’ - -‘How was it, child?’ asked Matthias, casting his fork from him with -such violence that it stuck into the soil and remained upright. - -Gabrielle moved towards the seat. - -‘Yes, sit down,’ said Lebertre; ‘poor child, you are greatly -overcome.’ - -Gabrielle sank upon the bench. She still trembled in all her limbs. -Removing her white cap, which was disarranged, her beautiful dark -hair fell in waves down her back and touched the seat she occupied. -The fear which had distended her eyes had now deserted them, and the -irises recovered their usual soft and dewy light. The peachy colour -also returned to cheeks that had been blanched, but the delicate rosy -lips still quivered with excitement. Clasping her hands on her lap, -and shaking the locks from her temples, she looked up beseechingly at -her father, and said, in gentle entreaty,-- - -‘My father! Let me not go to the château again.’ - -‘Tell me what took place.’ - -‘It was M. Berthier, my father. You know how I have feared him. Why -did you send me to the château?’ - -‘Go on, child.’ - -She suddenly clasped her hands over her brow, threw her head forward, -and resting her elbows on her lap, said:--‘Promise me! I am not to go -near that place again.’ - -‘Is time so common an article that I can afford to waste it thus?’ -exclaimed André. ‘Go on with your story, or I shall return to -littering the cow-stall.’ - -‘My father!’ - -‘Well!’ - -‘I am not to go there again!’ - -With a curse the peasant flung himself towards his fork, tore it -out of the ground, and recommenced his work. He continued carrying -into the cow-shed bundles of straw and spreading them, with apparent -forgetfulness of his daughter, and indifference to her trouble. She -remained with her head in her hands, crying. Lebertre spoke to her, -but her grief had now obtained the mastery over her, and she could -not answer him. - -‘Let her cry herself out,’ said Lindet. - -After the first paroxysm was over, she sprang up, ran to her father, -cast her arms about him, and placing her chin upon his breast, looked -up into his eyes. This was an old trick of hers. Matthias never -looked any one in the face, and when his daughter wished to meet his -gaze, she acted thus. - -‘I will tell you all now,’ she said. ‘Come, sit by me on the bench.’ - -‘I have no time at present,’ he answered, sullenly. ‘Besides, I can -guess a great deal.’ - -‘You shall listen to me,’ said the girl; ‘I will not let you go till -you have heard everything.’ - -She removed the manure-fork from his hand, and led him to the door -of the cow-shed. He would not go farther, he would not seat himself -beside her, as she had asked. He yielded to her request in one -particular, but not in another. It was his way,--his pride, to do -whatever he was asked with a bad grace. He supported himself against -one side-post, with his head down, and the knuckle of his forefinger -between his teeth; she leaned against the other jamb. - -‘I went round to the houses, as usual, selling my bunches of roses; -I sold one to Madame Laborde, and two to the Demoiselles Bréant; and -M. François Corbelin, the musician, bought one, but he did not pay -me,--he had no money with him to-day, but he promised for next time. -Then I went to the château of M. des Pintréaux, but the ladies did -not want any of my roses; and then I walked on with my basket to the -Château Malouve. The lackeys told me that Monsieur was not in, but -that he was a little way along the road, and that I was to take him -my roses, as he particularly wished to purchase them, he wanted them -all; so I walked on, but I was distressed, for I did not like to meet -M. Berthier alone. He always addresses me in a way that gives me -pain, and he makes his jokes, so that I am ashamed.’ - -‘Well, well, go on.’ - -‘So, my father, after I had shown him my basket----’ - -‘Then you found him?’ - -‘Yes; he was at no great distance. He laughed when I came towards -him. He did not seem to care much for the roses, but looked at me -with his horrible eyes, and he put his hand to my chin, and asked for -a kiss, then I was frightened and ran from him; but he followed me, -and I was so frightened that I could not run with my usual speed; my -head was spinning, and I scarcely knew whither I was going; then, -just as he caught me up, M. le Curé rescued me from him. God be -praised!’ - -Matthias turned from the door-post to resume his pitchfork, but his -daughter intercepted him once more. - -‘My father,’ she entreated, ‘say that I am never to go again with my -roses to M. Berthier!’ - -‘Did he pay you for the bunches he took?’ - -‘No; I ran away before he paid for them.’ - -‘You are a fool; you should have taken the money, and then run away.’ - -Lebertre now stepped forward to interfere. - -‘It is not right, Matthias, that the poor child should be sent into -such peril again.’ - -‘M. Berthier buys more bunches than any one else,’ answered André, -moodily. - -‘Dear father, I have too often to suffer the looks and smiles and -jokes of those to whom I offer my bunches of flowers,’ said the girl, -emboldened by finding that the priest took her part. ‘Let me work in -the field every day with you. Let us dig up the garden, and turn it -into a potato-field.’ - -‘Remember the risk to a young and pretty child,’ continued the curé, -‘in sending her round the country alone with her basket of flowers. -The young gentlemen are gay and reckless; shame and sin enough have -been wrought in this neighbourhood by them, and M. Berthier is -notorious for his debaucheries. You are thrusting your child over a -precipice.’ - -‘We must live,’ answered the peasant, fiercely. ‘Answer me this. -Does not the sailor risk life for a small wage; does not the soldier -jeopardy his for a gay coat and a liard a day? Is it not the mission -of men--I do not mean of nobles, they are not men, they are gods--to -labour and struggle for a subsistence in the midst of perils? Shall -not my child, then, run some risks to win enough to satisfy the -gnawing hunger in our vitals? Does not the doctor venture his health -for the sake of a fee, and shall not this girl risk her honour to -save her life?’ - -‘You imperil both your soul and hers.’ - -Matthias shrugged his shoulders. - -Lindet strode up to him, caught his shoulders in his palms, and -jerked his head upwards; their eyes met for a second, and in that -second Lindet mastered his dogged humour. André threw it aside, and -straightening himself, he beat his hands together, and cried out in -an altered tone, full of bitterness and pain,-- - -‘My God! what are we poor but the cattle of the rich? We are theirs; -what is the good of our attempting to resist their will? They possess -our earnings, our labour, our life, our honour; ay! our souls are -theirs, to ruin them if they like. Can anything I may do protect poor -Gabrielle from M. Berthier, or any other great man who shall cast -his lustful eyes on her? No. Let things take their course. Perhaps -God will right our wrongs at the judgment. I wait for that. Thy -kingdom come!’ he exclaimed, throwing up his hands to the sky. ‘And -till then,--if it be God’s will that we should be the prey of the -powerful,--that they should eat us up, and pollute our honour,--why, -His will be done, we must even bear it.’ - -‘Do you love your daughter?’ asked Lebertre. - -‘As much as I can afford,’ answered André, relapsing into his moody -humour. - -‘You do love her,’ said Lindet; ‘but you love yourself better.’ - -Matthias looked furtively at him. - -‘I love her, indeed,’ he said, sadly; ‘but I have no thoughts for -anything but how to stave off the great enemy.’ - -‘What great enemy?’ asked Lebertre. - -‘Hunger,’ answered the peasant, passionately. - -‘The child shall not take her flowers to the Château Malouve any -more,’ said Lindet, firmly. ‘She shall take them instead to my -brother Robert, and he will buy them. Mind, _instead_, not besides.’ - -‘Yes, monsieur!’ answered André. ‘Indeed, I do not desire that -evil should befall my dear child, but hunger is imperious; and oh! -last winter was so terrible, that I dare not face another such, so -destitute of means as I have been.’ - -Dusk had by this time settled in, and the curés walked homewards. -Their roads lay together as far as La Couture, which is almost a -suburb of Bernay, and was, according to antiquaries, the original -parish church of that town, before the erection of S. Cross. - -‘See,’ said Lindet to his friend, as they parted at the door of -the presbytery of La Couture; ‘see how want and poverty dry up the -natural springs of love and virtue; and how the nobles, the Church, -and the king, by their oppression of the peasant, are demoralising -him. Believe me, if ever a day of reckoning should come, those -natural feelings, which oppression has turned into gall, will -overwhelm the oppressors. If once the people get the upper hand, -mercy must not be expected; wrong-doing has long ago destroyed all -the tenderer feelings of our poor.’ - -But he was wrong in thinking that they were destroyed. Frozen over -they were, but not dried up. - -That night, after André had gone up his ladder to the bed of straw on -which he lay, and after several hours of darkness, Gabrielle woke up -at the sound of sobs, and creeping lightly from her attic chamber to -her father’s door, she saw him by the moonlight that flowed in at the -unglazed window, kneeling against his bed, with his head laid upon -his arm, and the moon illumining it, weeping convulsedly, and the -white light glittered in his tears. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -The west front of Évreux Cathedral occupies one side of a small -square, of which the south side is formed by a high wall pierced by -the arched gate that conducts into the courtyard of the bishop’s -palace. - -Above this arch was wont to be erected the arms of the prelate -occupying the see, impaled with those of the diocese. The Bishop -of Évreux in 1788 was Monseigneur de Narbonne-Lara, and the arms -borne by him displayed a ramping and roaring lion. As those of the -bishopric were a S. Sebastian bound to a pillar, and transfixed with -arrows, the combination was peculiar, and was seized on by the wags -to point a moral. They observed that the saint typified Religion, -bound hand and foot by establishmentarian thongs, and pierced through -with many sorrows, whilst Monseigneur’s lion, which seemed bent -on devouring the martyr, symbolized the greed and ambition of the -episcopacy. - -Monseigneur de Narbonne had scrambled from a counter to a throne. -He was one of those few prelates of the French Church who were not -members of great families. Tell it not in Gath! his father made and -sold goose-liver pasties at Strasbourg; but Strasbourg is a very long -way from Évreux. - -The bishop’s father called himself Lara, his mother had been a -Demoiselle Narbonne; by combining the names, and prefixing to the -maternal cognomen a _De_, the bishop was able to pass himself off as -a member of the nobility, and to speak disparagingly of roturiers. -Above the parental shop at Strasbourg hung a wooden and painted -figure of a plucked goose, the badge of the family profession, and -the only heraldic device of which old Lara boasted. The lion, says -Æsop, once assumed an ass’s skin; but on the shield of Monseigneur -de Narbonne-Lara, bishop of Évreux, abbot _in commendam_ of three -religious houses, the ancestral goose ramped and roared as a lion or -out of a field gules. - -The bishop was ambitious of becoming an archbishop and a cardinal; he -had therefore to pay his court at once to Versailles and to Rome--a -course he was perfectly competent to pursue, for, though filled -to the brim with pride, he had not a drop of self-respect. He was -a tall, stout and handsome man, but his good looks were marred by -the redness and fleshiness of his face, and his proportions were -disguised by the pomposity of his carriage. - -Being a man of consummate shrewdness, he had succeeded in making -himself a favourite at Court. His knowledge of German had won him -first the bishopric of Gap, and afterwards the more important one -of Évreux, when, during the late reign, the Dauphiness had set -Austrian fashions. For the same reason, he was now private chaplain -to the Queen. He gave capital dinners, and hoped by the choiceness -of his cookery and wines to buy the favour of those who had the ear -of royalty. By fussy officiousness in the diocese, by worrying his -clergy, he hoped to obtain credit for energetic discharge of his -episcopal duties, and by favouring the Jesuits, he made sure that his -acts would be favourably reported at Rome. - -Monseigneur was now about to achieve a triumph. Prince -Louis-Stanislas-Xavier, commonly called ‘Monsieur,’ the brother of -the King, Duke of Anjou, Alençon and Vendôme, Count of Perche, Maine, -and Senonches, having business to transact in Normandy connected with -the bailiwicks of Bernay and Orbec, of which he was lord, had been -invited to the palace by the Bishop of Évreux, and the prince had -accepted the invitation. - -Monseigneur de Narbonne was in a flutter of excitement at the -prospect. The same may be said of Mademoiselle Baptistine, his -sister, who lived with him. The grand old palace was turned inside -out. Painters, gilders, and upholsterers had taken possession of the -house, and had banished the bishop into the turret overlooking the -garden. - -The prelate sat in his purple cassock and cape, pen in hand, making -imaginary calculations of the expenses the visit of the prince would -entail upon him. He had ordered the withdrawing room to be furnished -with blue silk hangings powdered over with silver lilies, and having -ascertained from his sister the price per yard of silk, and having -allowed a margin for the fleurs-de-lis, he measured the room when no -one was looking, and had just estimated the cost. He added to this -the blue velvet divan, and the chairs gilt and covered with blue -velvet, and the painting and gilding of the ceiling, the carpets and -the mirrors. He had pretty well satisfied himself that the income of -the see would not bear such an expenditure as he contemplated. But it -was worth the sacrifice. Three archbishops were then infirm. His own -immediate superior at Rouen had been reduced very low by a virulent -attack of gastric fever, brought on by immoderate eating of peaches; -and, according to the last account from Rouen, the archbishop, -immediately on his recovery, had again attacked the fruit of which -he was passionately fond, in opposition to the express orders of his -physician. If the archbishop were to be again prostrated, there was -every chance of his vacating an archiepiscopal throne, and also of -placing a cardinal’s hat at the disposal of the Pope. M. Ponce, the -_officiel_, was with the Bishop of Évreux. - -‘My good Ponce,’ said the bishop, ‘you must procure me money somehow. -Between ourselves, the expenses which I shall be compelled to incur, -in order adequately to entertain royalty, are so considerable, -that I must have my coffer replenished, or I shall be involved in -difficulties.’ - -‘I think, my Lord,’ answered the confidant, ‘that some of the cases -for your lordship’s court might be compromised, and that would at -once produce a sum of ready money.’ - -‘My excellent friend, I shall esteem it a favour if you will do so. -Are there many cases in hand?’ - -‘My Lord, I think there are some other cases coming on, but they -are not ripe yet. But, if your lordship will take my advice, I -should advise attention to be directed rather to the clergy than to -the laity. The times, as your lordship is well aware, are somewhat -uncertain. A spirit of antagonism to constituted authority is abroad; -there is much restlessness, much impatience of the rights of those, -whom Providence has ordained masters and governors, in Church and -State.’ - -‘It is but just that the shepherd should live of the milk of the -flock,’ said the bishop with dignity. - -‘Your lordship is theoretically right; but, unfortunately, the flock -will not submit to be milked with as great equanimity as heretofore. -Since the local parliaments, to the detriment of the liberties of -the Church, have assumed to receive appeals from our courts, we have -lost the hold upon the laity that we possessed formerly. I think--but -here I bow to your lordship’s superior judgment--that it would not be -advisable, just at present--I only urge at present, to draw off too -much milk from the laity. Now as for the _prêtrisse_, that is quite -another matter. The priests are at your disposal, your lordship can -do with them almost what your lordship likes. They are, in fact, mere -servants of the bishop.’ - -‘True, Ponce,’ said the prelate, blandly; ‘I say to this man go, and -he goeth; and to another do this, and he doeth it.’ - -‘And the most satisfactory point is this, they have no appeal against -their bishop. The law----’ - -‘I am the law,’ interrupted Monseigneur; ‘to the diocese in all -matters ecclesiastical, I repeat the expression, I am the law.’ - -‘Your lordship is right,’ continued the officer; ‘and therefore I -would urge that the most ready source of money is to be found in the -Church. You have but to fine a priest, and he cannot escape you. He -cannot evade your court, he cannot appeal to the crown, he dare not -throw himself on public opinion. He is completely at your mercy. He -is your slave. If he refuses to comply with your requirements, you -can inhibit him, or suspend him. Whilst suspended, the income of the -living goes to your lordship, and you have only to provide out of it -for the ministration of the sacraments; a small tax, for there are -always indigent or disreputable clergy glad enough to take temporary -duty for a trifling fee. But the curé knows better than to resist his -diocesan. He has been bred to consider it a matter of conscience -to yield to his ecclesiastical superior; and, even if conscience -does not influence him, common prudence will act upon him, when he -considers that every other profession is legally shut against him, so -that he must be his bishop’s slave, or starve.’ - -‘I have no wish for a moment to act with undue severity towards -my clergy,’ said Monseigneur de Narbonne; ‘indeed, I am incapable -of any such action; but discipline must be maintained, and when a -spirit of defiance manifests itself, even amongst the clergy, it is -high time that they should be made to recognise who is master in the -Church. The curés dare to call my episcopal acts in question, and to -oppose the execution of my projects. Is the Church a constitutional -government? Certainly not; it is a monarchy of which every prelate is -sovereign in his own see. The laity may have eluded his crook, but -with the spike he can transfix his recalcitrant clergy.’ - -‘I can give your lordship an instance of insubordination -corroborative of what you have just stated. I have just returned from -Bernay----’ - -‘Ah! there you have one of these new lights,’ interrupted the bishop. -‘I know his sentiments; he is a leader of disaffection, a man of -ungovernable vehemence, huge pride, and insolent demeanour.’ - -‘Quite so, my Lord,’ said M. Ponce. ‘According to your honoured -instructions, he has been closely watched, and, as I learned that he -had neglected to light his sanctuary-lamp during three days, he has -rendered himself amenable to justice. I have, however, offered him to -compromise the matter on the receipt of a fine of twenty-five livres. -He has refused me the money, and declares that he will speak to your -lordship about it, face to face.’ - -‘The fellow must be humbled,’ said the prelate; ‘he forgets that he -has no legal status, that he is a mere salaried curate, and that I -have it in my power to ruin him. I am glad that he is coming here; -I shall have an opportunity of cautioning him to exhibit decorum in -his conduct and respect in his behaviour.---- Well, Mademoiselle!’ -he suddenly exclaimed, as the door opened, and his sister entered, -embracing a large deal box. - -‘I have brought you your letters, Monseigneur, and----’ - -‘Well, my good sister, and what?’ - -‘Oh, nothing, nothing!’ - -‘May I ask what that box contains?’ enquired the bishop blandly, -whilst he took the letters. - -‘Nothing in the world, brother, but----’ - -‘But what, eh?’ - -‘Oh! nothing at all.’ - -‘Shall I retire?’ asked M. Ponce, who had risen from his seat on the -lady’s entry. - -‘By no means, my Ponce, by no means;’ and he began to tear open his -letters. - -‘Ha! begging appeals. The priest of Semerville is restoring his -church, and entreats help; the people are too poor, the landlord too -chary of giving, and so on.’ Away fluttered the note, torn in half, -and the _officiel_ obsequiously picked it up and placed it with a -score other dead appeals in the wastepaper basket. - -‘The curé of S. Julien entreats me to interfere--some widow who has -been wronged--bah!’ and that letter followed the first. - -‘“I have allowed nine months to elapse since the _vicaire_ of -Vernon was appointed, and the licence has not yet been forwarded; -wherefore, knowing the uncertainty of the post, he is confident that -the omission is due to the neglect of the postman, and not of the -forgetfulness of the bishop.” Humph! inclined to insolence. That is -the way these young curates behave! You shall await my convenience, -M. Dufour.’ This letter was crumpled up, and thrown at the basket. - -‘An altar to S. Joseph! The clergy of Louviers are desirous--and so -on. Well, Louviers is a large place. S. Joseph the patron of the -Jesuits; at any other time than this, my good friends.’ Away sped -this appeal. ‘“The curé of Beaumont ventures to observe that it is -two years since the last confirmation, and that the children are -growing up and leaving the district.” Confound his impudence! My -rule is plain enough, to hold a confirmation every year in the large -towns, Évreux and Louviers; one every second year in the smaller -towns; and one every third year in the rural districts. Sister! -enclose a printed slip with that notice to the curé of Beaumont.’ - -‘Yes, brother.’ - -‘What have we here? So, ho! a note from M. Berthier, Intendant -of Paris, written at his country seat, near Bernay, about Thomas -Lindet, who has behaved to him without proper respect, and whose -revolutionary principles render him a dangerous person to be the -curé of a large and important town. Pass me my paper-case, Ponce, -my good fellow, I will send him a note in return to thank him for -the information, and to promise that the curé shall be reprimanded -and cautioned. Intendant of Paris! a man of consequence, is he not, -Ponce, eh?’ - -‘A man of very great consequence, my Lord; his father-in-law is M. -Foulon, a great person at Court, as your lordship must know.’ - -If the bishop had attended to his sister instead of to his letters, -he would have observed that she was carefully placing the deal box -underneath the divan or sofa, which occupied one side of the little -room. - -‘Can I assist you, Mademoiselle?’ asked M. Ponce. - -‘On no account,’ replied the lady with evident alarm and agitation. - -She made several ineffectual attempts to attract her brother’s -attention, but he was too absorbed in his letters to notice her. And -the moment he had despatched his answer to M. Berthier, he plunged -at once into a discussion as to the guests who were to be invited to -meet His Royal Highness, at a fête on the evening of his arrival. - -‘I am in doubt whether to ask M. Girardin,’ said the prelate; ‘what -is your opinion, my Ponce? He is Lieutenant-General of the bailiwick, -which should weigh against his lack of nobility; his views are too -liberal to please me, he is a bit of a philosopher, has read Rousseau -and Voltaire, perhaps, and thinks with Montesquieu. I do not like to -introduce a herd of roturiers to the Duke; and, if one admits two or -three, all the burghers of the place will be offended at not having -been invited.’ - -‘As you have done me the honour of asking my opinion,’ said the -functionary, ‘I would recommend you to invite M. Girardin. Feed well -those who are not favourably disposed towards you; dazzle those who -are your enemies, and you render them powerless.’ - -‘I quite agree with what you say,’ said the bishop. This was not -extraordinary, as his official merely repeated a sentiment he had -heard Monseigneur express several times before; ‘those whom I cannot -suppress I dazzle, those whom I cannot dazzle I invite to my table.’ - -‘There is sound worldly wisdom in that,’ said M. Ponce. - -‘And it works admirably,’ the bishop continued; then, turning to his -sister, he said, ‘Well, Baptistine, what about the box?’ - -The lady gave a little start, frowned, and shook her head. - -‘Well,’ paused the bishop; ‘what is in it? Where have you put it?’ - -Mademoiselle Baptistine at once seated herself on the sofa, and -spread her gown, as a screen, to cover it, whilst she made several -cabalistic gestures to signify that the presence of a third party -prevented her from saying what she wanted. M. Ponce caught a glimpse -of these signs, or guessed that he was no longer wanted, for he rose, -and, after having formally saluted the bishop, and asked permission -to retire, he walked sideways towards the door, repeatedly turning to -bow. - -As his hand rested upon the latch, the door was thrown open, and a -large black retriever bounded into the room, between the legs of a -powdered footman in purple livery, who announced, ‘M. le Marquis de -Chambray.’ - -The gentleman who entered was tall and thin, with a solemn face, -adorned with a pair of huge grey moustaches. His hair was powdered, -and the dust covered the collar of his velvet coat. He was -elaborately dressed, and had the air of an ancient dandy. The Marquis -was a man of some fortune, and of illustrious family. He acted for -the prince as his deputy in the bailiwicks of Orbec and Bernay. -Scarcely less stiff and formal than his appearance was his character. -He was an aristocrat of the aristocrats, filled with family pride, -and rigid in his adherence to the rules of etiquette of the reign of -Louis XIV. He was never known to have made a witty remark, certainly -never a wise one. But though neither witty nor wise, he was a man who -commanded respect, for he was too cautious ever to act foolishly, and -too well-bred ever to behave discourteously. - -‘Ah! sapristi!’ exclaimed the Marquis; ‘my naughty dog, how dare you -intrude? I must apologise, my Lord, for the bad conduct of my dog. I -left it in the courtyard, but it has found its way after me.’ - -‘Let him remain,’ said the bishop; ‘fine fellow, noble dog! The doors -are all open, my dear Marquis; the workmen are engaged in getting the -palace just a little tidy for our distinguished visitor. Never mind -the dog--it would be impossible to shut him out, whilst the house is -in confusion. I am so sorry that you should be shown into this little -boudoir; but really, I am driven to it as my only refuge in the midst -of a chaos.’ - -‘I have come to inform you, my lord bishop, that Monsieur will be -with you on Thursday next, if that will suit your convenience. I -received a despatch from him to-day, and, amongst other matters, was -a notice to that effect, and a request that the announcement should -be made to you immediately.’ - -‘We shall be proud to receive him, and everything shall be in -readiness,’ said the bishop. - -‘The weather is exceedingly fine,’ observed the Marquis, turning -courteously towards Mademoiselle Baptistine. - -‘It is charming,’ answered the bishop’s sister, nervously. -Mademoiselle Baptistine was a lady of forty-five, with an aquiline -nose, of which, as an aristocratic feature, she and her brother were -proud. Her complexion was fair, her eyes very pale, and starting from -her head, so that she had always, except when asleep, the appearance -of being greatly surprised at something. - -‘It is also hot; Mademoiselle doubtless finds it hot,’ said the -Marquis. - -‘Very much so. I have been quite overcome.’ - -‘But it is seasonable,’ observed the visitor. And so on. - -Presently, however, the conversation brightened up a little; for the -Marquis, turning sharply on the bishop, said: ‘By the way, I met a -member of your family the other day.’ - -A scarlet flush covered the bishop’s face, and Mademoiselle -Baptistine turned the colour of chalk. - -‘I met the old Countess de Narbonne in Paris; she is doubtless a -cousin. I told her I was acquainted with your lordship, but she did -not seem to know you; probably her memory fails.’ - -‘The De Narbonne and the De Narbonne-Lara families, though remotely -connected, are not the same,’ answered the bishop, wiping his hot -face; ‘the branches separated in the reign of Saint Louis, and -therefore the connection between them is distant. Mine crossed the -Pyrenees and settled in Spain, where they fought valiantly against -the Moors. The castle of Lara is in Andalusia; the family assumed the -territorial name of Lara, in addition to the De Narbonne, on their -receiving the Spanish estates from a grateful monarch in recognition -of their services. My grandfather, unfortunately, gambled half the -property away, and my father sold the rest to pay off the debts his -father had contracted; an honourable proceeding, which reduced the -family, however, greatly. With the remains of his fortune he came to -France, retaining possession only of the ancestral castle in Spain.’ - -Suddenly Mademoiselle Baptistine uttered a scream. From under the -sofa darted the retriever with a huge pasty in its mouth. In its -efforts to secure the dainty morsel, it flung the lid of the box from -which it had extracted the pie, half way across the room. - -‘What is the dog at?’ exclaimed the bishop. - -‘Rascal!’ shouted the Marquis, ‘bring that here instantly.’ He -threatened the brute with his stick, and the dog crawled to him with -the pasty in its mouth. - -‘What manners!’ cried the nobleman; ‘I am so grieved at the -ill-conduct of my dog--No, Madame!’ as the lady stooped towards the -cover of the box, which had contained the delicious tempting pie. -‘Never, Madame; allow me.’ - -‘Allow me!’ said the bishop, bending his knee, and stooping towards -it. But Mademoiselle Baptistine was as active as either of the men; -and thus it came to pass that the three heads met over the lid of the -box; and at the same moment the bishop and the Marquis read a printed -shop-label, pasted upon it, and directed in manuscript to the bishop, -from-- - - ‘_Jacques de Narbonne-Lara (formerly Lara), - Maker of the celebrated Strasbourg Goose-liver Pasties. - Rue des Capuchins, 6; Strasbourg._’ - -‘Sapient dog!’ said the nobleman, rising, and blowing his nose. ‘My -wise Leo knows what is good. Ah! the pasty is utterly gone, he has -eaten it. I quite envy him the mouthful. Pray accept my deepest -regret for his misconduct.’ - -‘Do not mention it,’ answered the bishop, with his eyes still on the -hateful label. - -‘I am so glad to have the address,’ said the Marquis, with a slight -tinge of sarcasm in his voice; ‘I will write to the shop and order -some of these pasties for myself--I dote on the paté de foix gras.’ -And he bowed himself out of the room. - -‘What has that fool Jacques been about?’ asked the bishop, throwing -himself back in his chair, and clasping his hands in the air above -his head. - -‘My dear brother!’ answered Baptistine, ‘Jacques has assumed the same -name as you have; he is proud of being brother to a bishop, that -is why--and he has sent you the pasty as an offering of brotherly -love--so he says in his letter. I found the box on the table in the -hall, and all the servants round it, laughing. I snatched it from -them, and brought it up here, when----’ the rest was drowned in -tears. - -‘He had better have sent me a halter,’ said the bishop. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -Famine reigned in France, for the resources of the country were -drained off to sustain the court in luxury and vice. In seven years, -Louis XV added seven hundred and fifty millions of francs to the two -billions and a half of debts left by Louis XIV. Archbishop Fénélon -wrote to the Grand Monarque: ‘At length, France is become one great -hospital, desolate and unprovided with the necessaries of life. By -yourself alone these disasters have been created. In the ruin of -France, everything has passed into your hands; and your subjects are -reduced to live upon your bounty.’ - -Louis the Well-Beloved was hunting one day in the forest of Sénart. -He met a peasant carrying a coffin. ‘For whom is that coffin?’ asked -the king. ‘For a man.’ ‘What did he die of?’ ‘Hunger.’ France was -dying: in a few years, but for the Revolution, it would have been -dead and buried, killed by famine. - -‘In my diocese,’ said the Bishop of Chartres, ‘men browse with the -sheep.’ - -Taxes innumerable were paid. But there was not money enough. -Hundreds perished, that the beasts of Æsop’s fables might squirt -water in the duck-ponds of Versailles. The royal mistresses sparkled -with jewels, and each jewel cost a human life. One hundred millions -of francs went in pensions, the Red Book told on whom. Exemption -from taxes was given liberally; the king created nobles, the revenue -created employés, all these were exempt. Thus, whilst the sum -required of the people increased every year, every year the number -of payers decreased. The load weighed on fewer shoulders, and became -more and more oppressive. - -At Versailles, fifteen thousand men and five thousand horses were -supported at the public cost to give splendour to the seat of -royalty; they consumed sixty million livres per annum. The king’s -house cost eighteen millions, that of the queen four millions, and -those of the princes nine millions, though they possessed as their -apannages a seventh part of the territory of France. The Church drew -an annual income of four hundred and fifty millions; the tithes were -worth eighty millions, and its buildings were estimated at five -hundred millions. Of the land in France, one-fifth belonged to the -Church. - -What was the condition of the peasant? It has been already described; -it was he who bore the burden and heat of the day. On his toils -the court, the nobles, and the Church lived. It was his blood that -they sucked. The peasant might not plant what he would in his -fields; pastures were required to remain pastures, arable land was -to be always arable. If he changed his field into meadow, he robbed -the curé of his tithe; if he sowed clover in his fallow land, the -landlord or the abbot turned in his flock of sheep, to crop off it -what he deemed his share. The lord and the abbot sent out their -cattle to pasture an hour before those of the peasant; they had the -right to keep huge dovecots, and the pigeons fed on the grain of the -farmer. The tenant worked for his landlord three days in the year -for himself, three days for each of his sons and servants, and three -for each horse and cart. He was bound to cut and make and stack his -lord’s hay in spring, and to reap and garner his wheat in autumn; to -repair the castle walls, and make and keep up the castle roads. Add -to all this the tax to the king, twelve sous per head for each child, -the same for each servant, the subvention for the king; the twentieth -for the king, that is, the twentieth portion of the fruits of the -earth, already tithed for the Church. - -When we hear folk declaim against the French Revolution, do not let -us forget what was the state of the people before that event. The -Revolution was a severe surgical operation, but it was the salvation -of France. - -To the beautiful gothic church of Notre Dame de la Couture, the -people of Bernay and the neighbouring villages went in procession, on -the Feast of the Assumption, to entreat the Blessed Virgin to obtain -for them relief from their miseries. Human succour seemed in vain. If -they appealed to the king, his answer was, _Give!_ If they besought -the nobility, they also answered, _Give!_ If they threw themselves at -the feet of the Church, her response was also, _Give!_ - -Now, throughout the land a cry went up to Heaven. At Bernay it took -the form of a pilgrimage. - -The origin of the Church of La Couture was as follows. Far away in -the purple of antiquity, when first the faith of Christ began to dawn -in Gaul, a shepherd-boy found himself daily deserted by his flock, -which left him as he entered the forest in the morning, and only -returned to him at nightfall. Impelled by curiosity, he followed -the sheep one day, and they led him through bush and brake till he -emerged on a pleasant sunny glade upon the slope of the hill, where -the pasture was peculiarly rich, and where also, resting against a -magnificent wild rose, leaned a black statue of the Blessed Virgin. - -This discovery led to a concourse of pilgrims visiting the image, -which had been thus unaccountably placed in the heart of a forest. -The clergy of the ancient city of Lisieux sent a waggon to transport -the image to their church; but no sooner was it placed upon their -altar than it vanished, and was found next morning in the glade of -Bernay. A chapel was erected over it, and was served by a hermit, -but the afflux of pilgrims made the shrine rich, and a church was -built in the forest, and about the church a village soon arose. -The trees were cut down, and the bottom of the valley was brought -into cultivation, from which fact the church obtained its name of La -Couture, or Ecclesia de Culturâ Bernaii. - -The church is beautifully situated on the steep side of the hill, -with its west front towards the slope, and its apse standing up high -above the soil, which falls away rapidly from it into the valley. -The western doorway is richly sculptured and contains a flamboyant -window, occupying the tymphanum of the arch. Above this portal is a -large window, which, at the time of our story, was filled with rich -tracery, and with richer glass that represented Mary, the Queen of -Heaven, as the refuge of all in adversity. In the central light, the -Virgin appeared surrounded by flames and rays, her face and hands -black, whilst angels harped and sang around her. A fillet surmounted -her, bearing the text ‘Nigra sum, sed formosa, sicut tabernacula -cedar.’ (Cant. i. 4.) On one side, cripples and sick persons -stretched forth their hands to the sacred figure; on the other, -were peasants trampled on and smitten by the servants of nobles in -armour, whilst above in the tracery might be seen houses and barns in -conflagration, and ships about to be engulfed in waves[1]. - -From the west door, a flight of fifteen steps leads down into the -nave, so that on entering, the appearance of the church is almost -that of a magnificent crypt. - -On the 15th of August, in the afternoon, the church presented an -imposing spectacle. Eight parishes had united to visit the shrine, -and supplicate the protection of the Blessed Virgin. The day had -been hitherto very fine, and the sight enjoyed from the churchyard -of the processions arriving from different quarters, in the bright -sunshine, had been singularly beautiful. Each parish procession was -headed by its banner; the clergy, by crucifix and candles. Various -confraternities, with their insignia, united to give picturesqueness -to the scene. From the interior of the church the effect was -striking, as the line,--endless it seemed,--rippled down the flight -of western steps, with tapers twinkling and coloured banners waving; -whilst the organ thundered, and the people shouted the refrain of -a penitential litany. The illumined figures in the yard contrasted -with those in shadow, as they flowed through the portal: this was -especially noticeable when a band of girls in white, with white -veils, and lighted taper in hand, preceded by their white banner -emblazoned with a representation of the Assumption, moved through the -doorway. The leading ribbons of this banner were held by two maidens -in white; one of these was Gabrielle, and her appearance in this pure -garb was most beautiful. A wreath of white roses encircled her head, -and clasped the muslin veil to her temples. As the shadow of the arch -fell upon her, a slight puff of wind extinguished her candle, but on -reaching the foot of the steps a taper was held towards her, and she -was about to re-light hers at the flame, when, raising her eyes, she -encountered those of M. Berthier, who, with a smirk, proffered her -his burning candle. She shrank away, and kindled her light at the -candle of a girl who followed her. - -M. Berthier was in company with an old gentleman, very thin, with -a hatchet face, white hair, and black eyes active and brilliant. -He was dressed in an old brown riding-coat, with high collar, over -which protruded a short wiry pig-tail, fastened with a large bow. He -took snuff, at intervals of a few minutes, from a large gold box; -and he took it in a peculiar manner, not from his fingers but from -the palm of his hand, into which he shook the tobacco dust, and from -which he drew it into his nostrils by applying the palm to his face. -This method of snuffing might be economical, but it was ungainly and -dirty, for it left crumbs of tobacco upon the lips, nose, and cheeks -of the old man. - -‘That is the wench,’ said Berthier, after he had politely returned -the taper, which he had unceremoniously snatched from the hand of a -peasant, that he might offer it to Gabrielle. - -‘A pretty little darling,’ the old man replied. ‘Is this the -third flame this year, and we only in August? Bah! my lad, you are -positively shocking.’ - -‘Are you going to remain here among these rascals?’ - -‘A moment or two, my friend; I want to see who are the malcontents. -Bah! these people ask Heaven for food. Let Heaven give them rain and -sunshine, and the earth yield her increase; who will profit thereby? -Not they. Bah! Famine is not the result of the seasons, it is no -natural phenomenon. It is good for the people to be kept on low diet, -it humbles them; America bred fat cattle, and they have thrown off -the yoke. What makes the famine, my boy? Why, _we_ make famine, and -keep up famine, because the people must be retained in subjection.’ - -Berthier touched the old man to silence him; Lindet was close -to them, and his glittering eye rested on the Intendant and his -father-in-law. But Foulon took no notice of the touch, and he -continued:--‘Bah! If they are hungry, let them browse grass. Wait -till I am minister, I will make them eat hay; my horses eat it.’ - -Thomas Lindet heard the words as distinctly as did Berthier. A flush, -deep as ruby, suffused his face, and he clenched his teeth, whilst a -flame darted from his eyes. - -‘Who is that devil?’ asked Foulon, with imperturbable calmness, of -his son-in-law. - -‘He is the priest of S. Cross, at Bernay. I owe him a grudge. Come -out of this crush into the air, I am stifled.’ - -Berthier drew his father-in-law to the door. - -The weather was undergoing a change. To the west, above the hill, a -semicircle or bow of white cloud, in which the sun made prismatic -colours, edged a dense purple-black mass of darkness. It was like -gazing into a hideous cavern whose mouth was fringed with fungus. - -‘A storm is at hand,’ said Berthier; ‘it is approaching too rapidly -for us to escape. We must remain here.’ - -An ash with scarlet berries grew opposite the west door, on high -ground. This tree stood up against the advancing clouds like a tree -of fire, so intense was the darkness within the bow of white. The -leaves scarcely rustled; at intervals a puff of wind swept over the -churchyard and shook the tree, but between the puffs the air was -still. Gradually a peculiar smell, very faint, like the fume of a -brick-kiln at a great distance, filled the air. The white vapourous -fringe dissolved into coils of cloud, ropy, hanging together in -bunches, and altering shape at each moment. A film ran over the sun, -which was instantly shorn of its rays; a chill fell on the air, and -a shadow overspread the ground; the ash turned grey, and everything -that had been golden was transmuted into lead. - -From the church within sounded the organ, and the people chanting -the Magnificat; and incense rose before the altar, on which six -candles burned. - -From over the western hill came the mumble of distant thunder, a low -continued roll like the traffic of heavy-laden vehicles on a paved -road. A few large drops fell and spotted the flagstone on which -Berthier and Foulon stood. They looked up. The sky was now covered -with whirling masses of vapour, some light curl-like twists flew -about before the main body of lurid thunder-cloud, which was seamed -and hashed with shooting lights. - -The wind arose and moaned around the church, muttering and hissing -in the louvre-boards of the spire; the ash shivered and shook, the -willows and poplars in the valley whitened and bent, and the long -grass in the cemetery fell and rose in waves; the jackdaws flew -screaming around the tower, a martin skimmed the surface of the -ground, uttering its piercing cry. - -Foulon had been scratching his initials listlessly on the flag on -which he stood, with the ferule of his walking-stick. Drops like -tears falling about it made him say:--‘Come in, Berthier, my boy. The -rain is beginning to fall, and you will have your smart coat spotted -and spoiled.’ - -The two men re-entered the church. Vespers had just concluded, and -Lindet ascended the pulpit. From where he stood he saw them in the -doorway, with the sheet-lightning flashing and fading behind them. -At one moment they appeared encircled with flame, at another plunged -in darkness. - -‘As I came into this church to-day,’ spoke Lindet with distinctness, -‘I heard one say to another: _If the peasants are hungry, let them -browse grass. I would make them eat hay; my horses eat it._ As I -stand in this pulpit, and the lightning illumines yonder window, -I see painted there a lean, famished peasant, trampled under the -hoofs of the horse of some noble rider, and the great man has his -staff raised to chastise the peasant. Under these circumstances, -the poor man lifts his hands to heaven, as his only refuge. That is -what you do this day,--you, the down-trodden, scourged, and bruised; -you who are bidden browse the grass, because that is the food of -brute-beasts. Just Heaven! the importunate widow was heard who cried -to the unjust judge to avenge her on her adversary, and shall not God -avenge His own elect, though He bear long?’ - -The rain burst with a roar upon the roof,--a roar so loud and -prolonged that the preacher’s voice was silenced. The vergers closed -the great doors to prevent the rain from entering, for the wind -began now to blow in great gusts. The fountains of heaven seemed to -have burst forth, the rain rattled against the west window, loudly -as though hail and not rain were poured upon it. Dazzling flashes -of lightning kindled up the whole interior with white brilliancy, -casting no shadows. The congregation remained silent and awed, the -clergy in their tribune opposite the pulpit sat motionless. The -candles flickered in the draughts that whistled round the aisles; -their flames seemed dull and orange. - -Suddenly the bells in the tower began to peal. According to popular -belief their sound dispels tempests, and the ringers were wont to -pull the ropes during a storm. The clash and clangour of the metal -alternated with the boom of the thunder. The darkness which fell on -the church was terrible, men and women on their knees recited their -beads in fear and trembling. Scarce a heart in that great concourse -but quailed. Once a child screamed. Then, as for one instant, the -bells ceased, the sobbing of a babe at its mother’s breast was heard. -The water began to flow down the hill, collect into a stream in the -churchyard, and to pour in a turbid flood down the steps into the -nave. It boiled up under the closed door, it rushed into the tower -and dislodged the ringers, who were soon over shoe-tops in water. - -A startled bat flew up and down the church, and dashing against the -altar-candles extinguished one with its leathern wings. - -All at once the rain ceased to fall, and the wind lulled. None -stirred; all felt that the tempest was gathering up its strength -for one final explosion ere it rolled away. Then a tall thin woman -in black, with a black veil thrown over her head, was observed -to have stationed herself immediately before the altar, where she -knelt with outstretched arms and uplifted face. Those who were near -observed with horror that the face, from which the veil was upthrown, -was of a blue-grey colour. When she had made her way to her present -situation none knew; none had observed her in the procession, for -then she had been, probably, closely veiled. She threw her arms and -hands passionately towards the black Virgin above the altar, and in -the stillness of that lull in the storm her piercing cry was heard -pealing through the church, ‘Avenge me on my adversary.’ - -‘My God!’ whispered Berthier to his father-in-law, as he pointed to -the excited worshipper, ‘look at my wife, Foulon! she has gone mad.’ - -‘Bah!’ answered the imperturbable old man; ‘nothing of the sort, my -boy; she is invoking vengeance upon you and me.’ - -Instantly the whole church glared with light, brighter than on the -brightest summer day. No one present saw any object, he saw only -light--light around him, light within him, followed by a crash so -deafening and bewildering that it was some minutes before any one -present was able to perceive what had taken place, much less to -realize it. - -The lightning had struck the tower, glanced from it, bringing part -of the spire with it; had rent the west wall of the church, and had -shattered the slab on which, some minutes previously, Foulon and -Berthier had been standing. - -This was the last effort of the storm; the sky lightened after this -explosion, the rain fell with less violence, and gradually ceased. - -The congregation left the church. The torrent, which had rushed down -the hill, had in some places furrowed the graves and exposed the -dead. The grass was laid flat, and much of it was buried in silt. -Every wall and eave dripped, and the valley of the Charentonne lay -under water. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -Matthias André did not join the procession. He had been to mass in -the morning, for the Assumption was a day of obligation. And now -he sat smoking bad tobacco out of an old brown clay pipe, on the -seat before his door, facing due north, towards Bernay; there was -a corn-field on his right, cut off from the Isle of Swallows by -a rivulet of water--a field he had ploughed whilst his daughter -Gabrielle drove the horses, which he had sown with his own hands, and -which he had reaped. Gabrielle had bound the sheaves after him, and -now the shocks stood in goodly array, waiting to be garnered. They -had been waiting thus twelve days. The harvest was late this year, -owing to the cold spring. Much corn was down in the country, and -the tithe-cart of the monastery had been round to farm after farm, -and had come last to his. He did not dare to remove a sheaf till -the Abbey had taken its tenth; and after the monks came the revenue -officers, taking their twentieth. What the palmer-worm had left, the -locust devoured. Now came the feast-day, on which all work ceased, so -the good wheat remained a thirteenth day unstacked. - -Sullen, with downcast eyes, sat the peasant without his coat, but in -his red velvetine waistcoat, drawing long whiffs from his pipe, and -blowing them leisurely through his nostrils. - -Beside him sat a little wiry brown man, with coarse serge suit of -snuff-brown, face and hands, stockings and cap, to match. His eyes -were sharp and eager. This was Etienne Percenez, the colporteur. - -‘You have not joined the procession, Matthias, my friend,’ said the -little man, filling a pipe. - -‘For five and forty years I have supplicated God, our Lady, and the -Saints, to assist me in my poverty, and the answers to my prayers -have been doled out in such scant measure, that I have almost given -up prayer,’ answered André. - -‘You must work as well as pray,’ quoth the little man, with his pipe -in his mouth. - -‘Do I not work?’ asked the peasant-farmer, turning almost fiercely on -his friend; ‘I work from morning till night, and from the new year -to the new year. But what does that avail when the season is bad? A -hard winter, a late summer, and then fiery heat from June to August, -without a drop of rain. The grass is hardly worth mowing; the clover -is short and scanty, and the corn-crops are poor. When we thrash out -the wheat, we shall find the greater part of the ear is husk.’ - -‘Things may mend,’ said the colporteur; ‘they always reach their -worst before they right themselves. When we have the States-general, -why then we shall see, we shall see!’ - -Matthias shrugged his shoulders. ‘What did the Notables do for us -last year?’ - -‘The Notables are very different from the States-general. The -Notables were all chosen out of the nobility--one hundred and forty -oppressors met together, to decide how much greater oppression we -could be made to bear. But in the States-general, the oppressed will -have a voice, and can cry out.’ - -‘The Notables are summoned again.’ - -‘Yes, my friend, they are summoned by Necker, but not to consult -on the deficit, but to deliberate on the form of election to the -States-general, and on their composition.’ - -‘How great is the deficit?’ - -‘At the end of last year the expenditure surpassed the receipt by -one hundred and ten millions, and the deficit now amounts to sixteen -hundred and thirty millions. The exchequer cannot borrow money, for -Necker has discredited loans by publishing the state of the finances. -Do you think the Notables, the princes of blood-royal, the chiefs -of the nobility, the clergy and the magistracy, will pay the debt -out of their own pockets? No, no; they like to spend and not to pay. -Now, the king is going to call together the States-general. The -Notables pay! they saw only in Calonne’s scheme the spoliation of -the nobility and clergy, that is why they drove Calonne away, and -brought in Loménie de Brienne, the bishop, in his stead; they brought -a churchman into the ministry to bury the public credit, dead long -ago. De Brienne finds that there is no other resource but to take -possession of Calonne’s plans, and ask the Parliament of Paris to -consent to a vast loan. But the Parliament is made up of judges, -men grave and economical, and they are indignant at an impost on -their lands. Why should they be made to pay for Monsieur the Count -d’Artois’ fêtes, and the queen’s follies? Why consent to a debt ever -accumulating, and acquiesce in the ruin of France? Tell me that, my -friend Matthias. When the walls crack, we do not paste paper over -the rents to hide them--we dig down to the foundations, and we relay -them. Perhaps the Parliament of Paris thought this, my André, so they -appealed to the States-general. The States-general we shall have; and -then, Matthias, we, the oppressed, the tax-payers, the hungry--we -shall have a voice, and shall speak out; and, Matthias! we shall make -ourselves heard.’ - -‘Go on,’ said the farmer; ‘tell me the rest.’ - -‘The king declares that he will convoke the States-general.’ - -‘We shall speak out?’ asked André, hesitatingly. - -‘Our own fault, if we do not.’ - -‘But they will punish us if we do.’ - -‘What, Matthias, punish all France! Remember, all France will speak.’ - -‘And we can tell the good king that the tax-gatherers, and the -excise, and the nobles, and the abbés, are crushing us? that they are -strangling us, that we are dying?’ - -‘Surely.’ - -‘And the tax-gatherers, and the excise, and the nobles, and the -abbés, cannot revenge themselves on us for saying that?’ André leaned -back and laughed. He had not laughed for many years, and his laugh -now was not that of gaiety. - -‘A storm is rising,’ said Percenez, pointing over the hill. - -‘Will the king listen to us?’ - -‘Yes, he will listen.’ - -‘But will he redress our wrong?’ - -‘We shall make him. He has put the means into our hands.’ - -The first roll of thunder was heard. - -‘We shall be relieved of the taxes, the _gabelle_, the _corvée_?’ - -‘I do not say that; but the taxes will be levied on all alike.’ - -‘What! will the abbé and the noble pay six sous a livre for salt, and -pay the taille?’ - -‘Certainly, we shall make them pay. We pay, so must they.’ - -Again André leaned back and exploded into laughter, whilst from over -the hill the forked lightnings darted, and the thunder boomed. - -The two men watched the approach of the tempest. The mutter of -the thunder was now unceasing, and the vault was illumined with -continuous flashes. - -‘I must hasten home,’ said Etienne Percenez, ‘or my old dame will die -of fright at being alone in the storm.’ - -‘And I will go in,’ said André. But he did not go in at once; he -stood in his door. As Percenez crossed the foot-bridge, he heard his -friend bellow. Thinking he was calling, the little brown man turned -his head; he saw that André was laughing. - -‘I cannot help it,’ roared the peasant; ‘to think of the nobles, the -intendants, and the abbés, paying taxes!’ and he roared again. Then -he signed to Percenez. - -‘The storm is coming on.’ - -‘Very, very fast,’ cried the other, beginning to run. - -Matthias went inside the house, and seated himself before the -fireless hearth, and listened to the wind growling round the eaves. -The rain splashed against the little window, glazed with round panes. -There was a leak in the roof, and through it the water dribbled upon -the floor of the bedroom overhead. It became so dark in the chamber, -that Matthias would have lit a candle, had not candles cost money. -The water swept down the window in waves; the house trembled at each -explosion of the thunder. Going to the door, the peasant saw by the -lightning no part of the landscape, for the rain falling in sheets -obscured everything. He shut the door; the flashes dazzled him. Then -he threw himself down on a bench, and put his hands to his ears, to -shut out the detonations of the thunder, and began to think about -Necker and the States-general, and the probability of the nobles and -clergy paying taxes, and this idea still presented itself to him in -such a novel and ludicrous light, that again he laughed aloud. All -at once an idea of another kind struck him, as his hand touched the -floor and encountered water. He leaped with a cry to his feet and -splashed over the floor. He rushed to the door. The darkness was -clearing, and by the returning light, as the rain began to cease, -and the surrounding hills to become visible, he observed every -lane converted into a torrent of brown fluid; the roads had become -watercourses, and were pouring turbid streams through the gates into -the fields and meadows. The Charentonne had risen, and was rising -every moment. The water was level with the bridge which conducted -into his corn-field, and that was above the surface of the ground, -for it rested on a small circumvallation raised to protect the -field from an overflow. For a moment he gazed at his wheat; then he -burst away through the sallows and willow-herbs which grew densely -together behind his cottage, drenching himself to the skin, and for -ever marring the crimson velvet waistcoat; and struggled through the -rising overflow and dripping bushes to the south point of his isle, -where usually extended a gravelly spit. That was now submerged; he -plunged forward, parting the boughs, and reached a break in the -coppice, whence he could look up the valley. At that moment the -sun shot from the watery rack overhead, and the bottom of the vale -answered with a glare. Its green meadows and yellow corn-fields were -covered with a sheet of glistening water, its surface streaked with -ripples, pouring relentlessly onwards, and lifting the water-line -higher as each broke. Clinging to a poplar, from which the drops -shivered about him, up to his middle in water, stood Matthias André, -stupefied with despair. Then slowly he turned, and worked his way -back. - -The few minutes of his absence had wrought a change. His garden was -covered, and the flood had dissolved or overleaped the dyke of the -corn-field, and was flowing around his shocks of wheat. - -Nothing could possibly be done for the preservation of his harvest. -He stationed himself on the bench at his door, and watched the -water rise, and upset his sheaves, and float them off. Some went -down the river, some congregated in an eddy, and spun about; others -accumulating behind them, wedged them together, and formed a raft of -straw. - -‘Go!’ shouted he to his corn-sheaves; ‘sodden and spoiled, I care not -if ye remain. Go! now I must starve outright, and Gabrielle--she must -starve too.’ - -Gabrielle! - -Instantly it occurred to him that she was at the church, and would -need protection and assistance in returning. - -He went inside and put on his coat, took a strong pole in his hand, -and bent his steps towards the foot-bridge. It was not washed away, -but it was under water. He felt for it with the pole, found it, and -crossed cautiously. Then he took the road to La Couture. Many people -met him. Recovered from their alarm, their tongues were loosened, and -they were detailing their impressions of the storm to one another. -André accosted a neighbour, and asked him if he had seen Gabrielle. -He had not; but supposed she was behind;--many, he said, were still -in the churchyard, waiting for the flood to subside. - -Some old women, who lived in a cottage only a hundred paces beyond -the stile across which André strode into the road from his islet, now -came towards him. - -‘Neighbour Elizabeth, have you seen my child?’ - -‘No, Gaffer André.’ - -A little farther on he met a girl-friend of Gabrielle’s, in white, -with her wreath somewhat faded, and her candle extinguished. - -‘Josephine! where is my little one?’ - -‘I do not know, father André; I have been looking for her amongst the -girls of our society, but I could not find her.’ - -‘Do you think she is still in the church?’ - -‘That may be, but I do not think it is likely; you know that the -lightning struck the spire.’ - -‘Was any one killed?’ - -‘No; but we were all dreadfully frightened.’ - -Matthias pushed on. He questioned all who passed, but could gain -no tidings of Gabrielle. Several, it is true, had seen her in the -procession; some had noticed her in the church; but none remembered -to have observed her after the fall of the lightning. - -André was not, however, alarmed. He thought that possibly his -daughter was still in church, praying; probably she was with some -friend in a cottage at La Couture. Gabrielle had many acquaintances -in that little village, and nothing was more probable than that one -of them should have invited the girl home to rest, and take some -refreshment, till it was ascertained that the water had sufficiently -subsided to permit of her return to the Isle of Swallows. - -When he reached La Couture, he went direct to the church. He was -shocked to see the havoc created there by the bursting of the -storm; workmen were already engaged in filling the graves that had -been ploughed up by the currents, and covering the coffins which had -been exposed; head-crosses lay prostrate and strewn about, and the -sites of some graves had completely disappeared. A knot of people -stood at the west end of the church, gazing at the ruin effected by -the lightning; the summit of the spire was cloven, a portion leaned -outward, the lead was curled up like a ram’s horn, and a strip of -the metal dissolved by the electric fluid exposed the wooden rafters -and framework of the spire. The stroke had then glanced to the apex -of the nave gable, thrown down the iron cross surmounting it, had -split the wall, shattered the glass, and then had fallen upon and -perforated the threshold. - -Matthias André entered the church, and sought through its chapels for -his daughter. She was not there. No one was in the sacred building. - -Then he entered the village, and visited one house after another. No -one had tidings to tell of Gabrielle. The father became anxious. He -enquired for the girl who had borne the banner of the Blessed Virgin. -He asked her about his daughter, who had stood near her, holding the -leading ribbon. - -She had seen Gabrielle, of course she had, when they entered the -church; she sat near her in the aisle during vespers. When the -storm came on, Gabrielle seemed to be greatly alarmed; she must have -fainted when the lightning fell, because two gentlemen had carried -her out of church. - -Whilst the girl spoke, she stood in the doorway of her cottage, -holding the trunk of a vine which was trellised over the front of the -house and a small open balcony, to which a flight of stairs outside -the dwelling gave access. - -The girl was the sister of Jean Lebertre, curé of the church, and she -kept house for her brother. During the conversation, a priest stepped -out of the upper room that opened on to the balcony, and leaning his -elbows on the wooden rail, looked down on André. - -‘What is the matter?’ he asked. - -Matthias turned his face to the questioner. It was Lindet. - -‘I cannot discover what has become of my daughter, Monsieur le Curé. -Pauline, here, asserts that she fainted in church at the great -thunder-clap, and that she was carried out by two gentlemen.’ - -In a moment, Lindet strode down the stairs, and said, looking fixedly -with his bright eyes on the girl: - -‘Answer me, Pauline, who were those gentlemen?’ - -‘I do not know, monsieur.’ - -‘What were they like?’ - -‘Ma foi! I was so dazzled that I hardly know.’ - -‘Are you sure they were gentlemen?’ - -‘Oh, monsieur! of course they were. One had on a velvet coat.’ - -‘Of what colour?’ - -‘Reddish-brown, I think.’ - -‘And is that all you observed of him?’ - -‘He wore a sword.’ - -‘And the other?’ - -‘The other gentleman was quite old.’ - -‘Did you see the face of the first?’ - -‘I think so.’ - -‘And did you notice any peculiarity? Consider, Pauline.’ - -‘His eyes were strange. The sockets seemed inflamed.’ - -Lindet beat his hands together; André folded his arms doggedly, and -his chin sank on his breast, whilst a cloud settled on his brow. - -‘That is enough,’ he said, in sullen tones; ‘I am going home.’ - -Lindet caught his arm. - -‘Are you going home, man?’ - -‘Yes, I am tired. I have lost my crops, I have lost my daughter, and, -what is worst, I have spoilt my best waistcoat.’ - -‘What! will you not make further enquiries? Your daughter will be -ruined,’ said Lindet, vehemently. - -‘Why make further enquiries? I know now where she is.’ - -‘And will you make no effort to recover her?’ - -‘Why should I? I can do nothing. The poor cannot resist the great. -The storm came on just now, and the lightning smote yon spire. Why -did you not make an effort to protect the spire? Because you were -powerless against the bolt of heaven. Well! that is why I make no -attempt to protect my child; what could I do to oppose the will of an -Intendant, a great man at Court, and very rich?’ - -‘The child will be ruined. Make an attempt to save her.’ - -André shook his head. - -‘No attempt I could make would save her; no attempt I could make -would save my corn either. I shall go home and wipe my waistcoat; -perhaps I may save _that_ from utter ruin.’ - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -Thomas Lindet was not satisfied. Some effort must be made to -rescue the girl. If the father would not move, he must. He started -immediately for the château. He was an impetuous man; what he -resolved on doing he did at once, as quickly as he could. - -In half an hour he was at the Château Malouve. - -The house was small and modern. It stood by itself, with the woods -for a background, on the slope of the hill, facing south-east. The -ground before it fell rapidly away towards the valley, and was -in field and pasture. A terrace had been formed in front of the -house, with a pond in the midst, and a triton to spout water from a -conch-shell. But as the château occupied high ground, and there was -little water on a higher level, the triton maintained in wet weather -an inconsiderable dribble, which not even the storm of that day could -convert into a jet; but in hot weather it was dry. - -The château was flanked by two square blocks, the roofs of which were -capped with tower-roofs and weathercocks. The body of the building -had the high exaggerated roof of Louis XIV’s time, pierced with -attic louvres. Every window was provided with emerald green shutters, -and the walls being of a chalky whiteness, the house had a gay and -smiling appearance. - -M. Berthier had a large house in Paris, in which he resided the major -portion of the year, only visiting Malouve in the summer for a month -or two. - -At the back of the château was a yard, one side occupied by stables, -another by servants’ offices; access to this yard was obtained -through an iron gate painted green and gold, set in a lofty iron -railing, very gay with paint, very strong and insurmountable, -the spikes at the summit being split and contorted so as to -form a pretty, but, at the same time, an eminently practical -chevaux-de-frise. - -As Thomas Lindet approached the gate, two hounds rushed out of their -kennels before the coach-house door, and barked furiously. One was -chained, but the other, by accident, had got loose, the staple which -fastened the chain having given way; and the brute now flew to the -gates, dragging the clanking links after him, and leaped against the -iron bars. - -The shovel hat and black cassock were an unusual sight to the dog, -and the costume of the priest excited it to a pitch of fury. First -it set its head down, with the paws extended, rolled back its -lips exposing the pink gums and white fangs, and growled; then it -leaped up the iron rails, as though desirous of scrambling over -them, started back, barked furiously; its chained brother assisting -vociferously. The eyes of the hound became bloodshot. It flung itself -again and again at the gate, it ran along the line of rails, leaping -on the dwarf wall in which they were fixed, and slipping instantly -off it, scrambling up again, and catching at the bars with its teeth, -searching along the whole length for a gap, through which it could -force its way; sometimes thrusting its head between the rods, and -then, nipped by them, becoming more furious; racing back to the great -gates, scraping at the earth under them with intent to burrow a way -to get at the priest, but always unsuccessful. - -Lindet rang the great bell. - -A rakish-looking footman opened the glass doors of the house, -looked out and called ‘Poulet! Poulet!’ to the hound, but it paid -no attention, so the footman sauntered to the stable and then to -the coach-house, in search of a groom. As he passed the kennel, he -kept at some distance from the chained dog, but addressed it in a -conciliatory tone--‘Eh bien! Pigeon, mon ami! Soyez tranquil, cher -Pigeon.’ But the Pigeon paid no more attention to this advice than -did the Chicken to his calls. - -Not being able to find the groom, the footman leisurely visited the -garden, and called, not too loudly, ‘Gustave!’ Gustave, the gardener, -having at last turned up, a little conversation ensued between him -and Adolphe, the footman, which ended in both appearing in the court, -and making towards the hound from opposite quarters, Adolphe keeping -unduly in the rear. - -Having approached the dog--which by this time had worked itself into -a mad rage, apparently quite ungovernable--within such distance as -Gustave, on one side, and Adolphe on the other, respectively thought -consistent with prudence, ‘Come on, my brave fellow, excellent dog, -worthy hound, trustiest of chickens!’ called Adolphe, ‘come, don’t -be a naughty child. Come, be docile once more, and all shall be -forgotten.’ - -‘Come this way, you rascal!’ roared Gustave authoritatively, ‘come -and let me chain you up, or, sapristi! I’ll dash your brains out, -I’ll tear the liver out of you, I’ll poke your red eyes out, I’ll cut -off your bloodthirsty tongue. Sacré! I give you three minutes by the -clock, and, ventre gris! if you don’t obey me, I’ll be the death of -you. Come, you insolent, audacious ruffian. Come this moment!’ - -But the dog paid not the slightest attention to the entreaties of -Adolphe and the threats of Gustave. - -Lindet folded his arms, and looked on the men contemptuously. They -were both afraid of the hound, but pretended that they were not. - -‘You must give him rein,’ said Adolphe; ‘he will exhaust himself, and -the poulet will be an angel once more.’ - -‘Not for a moment,’ roared Gustave; ‘suffer that demon an inch of -liberty; never! He shall be chained to a block of stone,--he shall -not move a paw, he shall not open his mouth, he shall not wink an -eye. He shall have no meat for a thousand days, till the devil in him -is expelled!’ - -‘I will fetch the dear fellow a sponge-cake. I know he loves sweets, -do you not, my Poulet? And above all sweets, sponge-cake; yes, in one -moment! Be gentle till my return.’ - -‘I will get my double-weighted whip, with lead in it, and fifty -thousand knots in the lash, and nails in each knot, and the nails -rusty, and crooked, and spiked. Ah! ha! they will make the devil -jump; they will make the devil bleed! Sapristi! I will cut and chop -and mangle his accursed hide.’ - -‘Bah!’ said a creaky voice. - -M. Foulon was there. He had heard the noise, which was indeed -deafening, and had descended to the yard from his room. He was in -his brown topcoat, and the little wiry pigtail with its huge bow -protruded over it like a monstrous dragon-fly that had alighted on -his collar. - -‘Bah! you are three fools,’ said he; then, drawing his great gold -snuff-box from his breast pocket, he poured some of the dust into -his hand, snuffed it up himself, strewing his face with particles -of tobacco, then he emptied half that remained in the box into his -hand, and walked leisurely up to Poulet. - -‘Eh bien, Poulet!’ said he, with a tone of mingled banter and -defiance. The hound turned its head instantly, snarled, cowered, and -the old man flung the snuff into its face. - -‘Now you may go and wink and sneeze your superfluous spirits away, -you chicken, you!’ Foulon continued; ‘now you may go to your darling -brother Pigeon, and you may tell him that you do not like snuff, that -snuff is expensive, because of the excise; that we have a monopoly of -tobacco, and that the revenue gains by tobacco. Do you understand, -Poulet? Well, go and tell Pigeon all about it. Here, I will help -you.’ He caught the end of the chain, and drew the dog after him to -its kennel. The brute’s attention was engrossed by its own distress, -the snuff in its eyes blinded it, the snuff up its nose afflicted it -with sneezing, and down its throat choked it. - -Foulon called to Gustave for a hammer. Adolphe ran with alacrity to -look for one, Gustave brought one. The old man calmly snuffed again, -then took the hammer and riveted the staple. ‘Now, then, you rascal,’ -said he, turning abruptly upon the footman; ‘do you not see that you -have left Monsieur le Curé outside the gate? How thoughtless, how -unmannerly!’ - -Adolphe bounded to the railing and unlocked the iron gate. Thomas -Lindet walked past him, and went straight towards Monsieur Foulon. - -The old gentleman removed his hat and bowed courteously; the priest, -absorbed in the purpose of his visit, had forgotten these courtesies. -He now bent towards Foulon stiffly, and raised his shovel hat. - -‘You have done me an honour I never hoped to have enjoyed. This day -you have made me a proud man; hitherto I have been humble. Beware, my -dear curé, or you will blow me up into extravagant conceit.’ - -Lindet looked at him with surprise. - -‘You did me the honour of preaching an observation I made within your -hearing to my excellent son-in-law, the good Berthier. I did not know -that my remarks were so valuable, so deserving of repetition.’ - -‘I have come to speak of quite another matter,’ said Lindet. - -‘Indeed! I thought your visit was one of congratulation to the poor -old man, Foulon, on having made a shrewd and pertinent remark at -last--at last, after so many years of stupidity, Foulon has given -promise of being witty and wise. But allow me to observe that you did -not give my remarks exactly as they were made. Not that a word or -two is of consequence, but still accuracy is a point--a point, you -understand, we revenue farmers learn to appreciate.’ - -‘Sir, I came here----’ - -‘Pardon me, my dear curé, we will stick to the point. The expressions -I used were these. “Bah!--” you did not render that interjection in -your version. Now, that interjection is expressive; besides, it is -characteristic; I always use it. Well, I said, “Bah! if the peasants -are hungry, let them browse grass. Wait till I am minister, I will -make them eat hay; my horses eat hay.” You left out the words “wait -till I am minister.” Be exact, my good friend; exactness is a virtue.’ - -‘M. Foulon, I have come here----’ - -‘One moment, my good curé; here is a little lesson of Christian -forgiveness for you to take home with you. This day you desired to -turn loose these hungry peasants on me; this day I have chained up a -savage bloodhound that was ravening to be at your throat. Now, what -have you to say?’ - -‘I want to know where is the girl Gabrielle André, whom your -son-in-law, M. Berthier, and you, M. Foulon, carried out of church -this afternoon?’ - -‘Bah! I am ashamed of my good, model curé. He is as bad as we naughty -laymen, and runs after pretty girls and petticoats.’ - -Lindet clenched his hands and teeth. - -‘She is your charming niece, is she not? Ah, ha! my sad scapegrace of -a curé!’ - -‘M. Foulon, I will not have this,’ said the priest, passionately; -‘this insult is intolerable.’ - -‘Then you can always leave the court,’ answered the old man; ‘see! -the door is open. But we will not quarrel. Come along into the hall -and have some refreshment.’ - -Lindet stamped. The imperturbable coolness and insolence of the old -gentleman exasperated his fiery spirit. - -‘Come, come, cool down,’ said Foulon; ‘I did not mean to irritate -you. Is the girl your relative?’ - -‘No.’ - -‘Of course, then, she is one of your parishioners?’ - -‘No, she is not.’ - -‘Then, pardon me, but I am surprised at your taking so much trouble, -and running the risk of being torn to pieces by those villanous dogs, -to make enquiries about her. I will answer all your enquiries with -the utmost frankness, if you can assure me that her father authorized -you to come here and demand her.’ - -Lindet’s face became crimson. He bit his lips with vexation. That he -was completely at the old man’s mercy, he felt; and he was conscious -that the revenue-farmer was making him ridiculous. - -‘I insist on knowing whether the girl is here. I know her father and -her, and I have a perfect right to make these enquiries. I now ask to -see her. You dare not keep her here against her father’s and her own -will.’ - -‘You are the most inconsequent of curés,’ exclaimed Foulon, laughing -gently; ‘you ask to see her, and you ask at the same time whether she -is here. I neither say that she is here, nor that she is not here. -As to your seeing her, that is out of the question. If she be not -here, how can I show her to you? If she be here, I do not bring the -chambermaids into the courtyard to receive pastoral exhortations.’ - -Whilst speaking with Lindet, the old gentleman had moved slowly -towards the gates of the yard: Lindet had followed him, without -observing whither he was conducting him. Thus Foulon had drawn him -outside the rails. Now, having finished this last insulting speech, -spoken with an air of politeness and cordiality, he suddenly turned -on his heel, stepped within, slammed and locked the iron gates of the -enclosure, leaving Lindet without. - -The curé attempted to speak again; but Foulon retired, waving his -hand and hat, and bowing courteously. Then he made the circuit of the -house, in hopes of finding another door, but was baffled. It is true -there was a small door in a high wall, which led into the garden, but -it was fastened from within. The terrace was so raised, being built -up from the slope, that it could not be reached, and on every other -side the château was enclosed by walls and rails. - -Lindet wasted a few minutes in making the round of the premises, -feeling all the while that he should be at a loss what course to -pursue, even if he did penetrate once more within. At last he -desisted and retired, satisfied that the only person who could claim -access to the girl, with any chance of obtaining it, was her father; -and Lindet was convinced that he could not be stimulated to make the -attempt. - -Had Lindet accompanied André home to les Hirondelles, instead of -rashly going himself in quest of Gabrielle, he would have done her a -greater service. - -When Matthias André returned to les Hirondelles, he found that -the water had subsided almost as rapidly as it had risen. The -plank-bridge was no longer submerged, and the garden and house were -clear. The corn-field presented the appearance of a large pond, but -that was because the dyke retained the water; there being no gap in -it, there was no drainage. - -To his amazement, he saw M. Berthier seated at his door. André -scowled at him, but deferentially removed his bonnet. - -‘Good evening, man!’ said the Intendant, nodding, but not rising from -his seat. ‘Your name is Matthias André, is it not?’ - -‘Yes, monsieur.’ - -‘Ah! your daughter was at the church this afternoon?’ - -‘She was, monsieur, and I cannot find her----’ - -‘I know, I know,’ interrupted Berthier; ‘I can tell you more about -her than you could tell me.’ - -‘Monsieur, I heard that you and your honoured father-in-law -had removed her from the church, when she fainted during the -thunderstorm.’ - -‘You heard aright,’ said Berthier. ‘There was evident danger in -remaining within. The spire might fall at any moment and bury -those in the church under its ruins. We saw a girl near us fall, -and thinking she had been injured by the lightning, we carried her -out and transported her to my house. We did not know where was her -home. She is now with my wife, Madame Berthier, who has taken great -interest in her.’ - -André remained standing before him with his eyes on the ground. He -knew that Berthier was deceiving him, and the Intendant did not care -to do more than give his account of what had really taken place, a -superficially plausible colour. - -‘I see your wheat is under water,’ said the stout gentleman, pointing -with his thumb towards the submerged field, and then, drawing his -handkerchief from his pocket, he twisted the corner into a little -screw and ran it round the lids of his eyes in succession. - -‘Yes, monsieur, all my crop is destroyed.’ - -‘And what have you to subsist upon now?’ - -‘Nothing!’ - -‘Can you pay the tax?’ - -‘I do not know.’ - -‘Have you any money laid by, to help you out of your difficulties? -Of course, in prosperous times, you have put aside a nice sum to fall -back upon?’ - -‘Monsieur! how can a peasant lay by? The revenue absorbs all his -profits, and leaves him barely enough for his subsistence. He may -live in times of plenty; in times of scarcity he must die.’ - -‘Then what do you intend doing?’ - -Matthias shrugged his shoulders. - -‘All depends on the winter. I have a few potatoes. I must sell this -wet corn--it will all be mouldy--for what it will fetch. Ah! if I -could have garnered it three days ago, or even yesterday. I shall -starve.’ He groaned. - -‘And your daughter will starve with you!’ - -André answered with a scowl. - -‘Do you owe any money?’ - -‘Yes; I owe Jacob Maître, the usurer, four hundred crowns.’ - -‘You cannot pay him?’ - -‘No. I have been in debt a long while; he threatens, and I had hoped -to pay him off a part this year.’ - -‘And now he must wait?’ - -‘He will not wait.’ - -‘How so?’ - -‘He will put me in prison.’ - -‘And whilst you are in prison, what will your daughter do?’ - -‘God knows!’ André bowed his head lower, and began to mutter to -himself. - -‘What are you saying?’ asked the Intendant. - -‘Nothing,’ answered the peasant, doggedly. - -‘But I will hear,’ said Berthier. - -‘I said if God would not provide, then the devil must.’ - -‘Goodman André, that is a somewhat shocking sentiment. Besides, it -is not altogether true; there may be a half measure, you know. Now -madame, my wife,--a very worthy, pious woman--a little of heaven one -way, but a deuced black and ugly one--a little of hell the other -way,--she is the person to do it. She has commissioned me to ask -you to allow her to retain your child as her servant. That is her -message. She wants an active girl to wait upon her, and she has -taken a fancy to your daughter. I do not interfere in household -matters--understand that--but my good wife, being unable, or -disinclined, to come here and see you on the subject, has persuaded -me to do her work. I am goodnatured, I am fat; fat people are always -goodnatured, so I yield to my wife in everything. I am her slave--her -factotum. It is a pity to be goodnatured; one is imposed upon, even -by the best of wives.’ - -André did not speak; through the corner of his eyes he was -contemplating his submerged corn-field. He knew still that -Berthier was deceiving him, and he was calculating the chances -of the approaching winter. Would his potatoes last, even if Jacob -Maître did not come down upon him? Would not the usurer seize on -everything,--his cow, his horse, his cart, his potatoes, his bed and -furniture, his very clothes? - -Berthier took some money out of his pocket, and made twelve little -heaps on the seat beside him. - -‘What do you say to me, in my generosity, giving you six months’ -wage for your girl in advance? This is very reckless of me, because -I really do not know whether she will suit madame or not. Madame is -capricious, she sometimes sends away a dozen servants in the year. -However, as you are in great distress, and I am constitutionally -liberal--fat people are always liberal--I say, well, I will risk it. -You shall have six months’ wage in advance, and the wage is good; it -is high, very high. Count.’ - -André touched one of the little heaps with his finger, and upset the -silver pieces, that he might reckon their number; then he counted the -heaps, and multiplied the sum in one by six; then he doubled that. - -He would not speak yet. - -Berthier substituted gold for some of the silver. Rarely had gold -passed through the peasant’s fingers. He took the piece up in his -trembling palm, turned it over, and looked at it fixedly. His hand -shook as with the palsy, and the gold piece fell from it into the -mud. André’s brow became beaded with perspiration. He stooped, and -picking it up hastily, went to a pitcher and washed it reverently, -and then replaced it on the bench. - -‘Well, man!’ said the Intendant, taking his pocket-handkerchief and -spreading it on his knee. It was stained. - -Matthias moodily entered the stable, produced a pick, and walked -into his potato-croft. Berthier stared after him, uncertain whether -by this action he designed in his boorish manner to express his -determination to break off the transaction. Matthias began to dig up -a row of potatoes, and Berthier saw him take up the roots, and count -the tubers on each, and measure them with his eye. - -Presently he returned with a lap-full; these he measured in a bushel, -and made a rough calculation of the number he should gather from his -little croft. - -The gloom on his face became deeper. Then he went into the cow-house -and remained there a few minutes. After that he entered the little -orchard of some dozen trees, and estimated the yield of apples; then -he returned to the house, opened the clothes-chest, and threw all -the articles of wearing apparel on the table and bench, and made a -mental valuation of them. There were some silver ornaments,--round -perforated buttons and a brooch that Gabrielle wore on great fêtes; -an heirloom. The peasant was unable to estimate their value, so he -brought them out to the Intendant, and said, sulkily: - -‘What are these worth?’ - -Berthier weighed them in his hand, laughed, and said: - -‘The value of the silver is trifling--five or eight francs, at the -outside.’ - -The wretched father carried them back into the house. - -Presently he came out in a vacillating, uneasy way--his mind hardly -made up. - -‘You promise me that it is only madame who will have anything to do -with my Gabrielle?’ he said. - -‘I promise you that! of course I will. She will be with madame night -and day; will scarcely be out of her sight. Will that content you?’ - -André still mused, and refrained from giving a decided answer. - -Just then he caught sight of the money-lender, Jacob Maître, a -short-built, red-whiskered and bearded man, with thick overhanging -red brows, standing on the dyke, contemplating the havoc made in -André’s field by the flood. - -That sight determined him. He bent, gathered up six of the heaps of -silver between his palms, rushed with it into his cottage, and bolted -the door. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -After Berthier had seen Gabrielle safely locked up in one of the -towers that formed the extremities of his house, at Foulon’s advice -he had visited the Isle des Hirondelles. - -Madame Berthier had returned from the church, and was in her own -chamber, at the farther end of the house. - -This unhappy woman was Foulon’s daughter; towards her he had never -shown the least paternal love. Possibly it was not in his nature to -exhibit love. She had never been beautiful, having inherited her -father’s hatchet-face; in addition to her plainness was her colour; -her complexion was of an ashen blue-grey, the result of having taken -much nitrate of silver medicinally. Her plainness and her complexion -being neither of them attractive, Berthier made no pretence of loving -her, and Foulon did not exact it of him. Berthier, the Intendant, or -Sheriff of Paris, a man of humble extraction, being descended from a -race of provincial attorneys, had worked his way into prominence and -power by his shrewdness and unscrupulousness. He had married Foulon’s -daughter for the sake of some money she inherited from her mother, -but chiefly in hopes of one day possessing his father-in-law’s large -fortune. - -Foulon had begun his career as an intendant of the army, and had -amassed immense wealth by victualling badly and charging high. The -soldiers fasted or fed on garbage, that Foulon might fatten. He was -both a contractor for the army, and one of the commission appointed -to watch and check the contractors. - -Madame Berthier was naturally a woman of a warm and affectionate -disposition; but meeting with no response from her husband or her -father, and, through repeated humiliations to which she was subjected -by her profligate husband, all that warmth had accumulated into -a fire which burned in her bosom, consuming her, disturbing her -intellect, and wrecking her constitution. - -She was a tall thin woman, dressed wholly in black. Her hair was -grey, a silvery grey, contrasting painfully with the blue-grey of -her face. Her large hazel eyes were clear and bright, but their -brilliance was unnatural, and impressed a stranger with a conviction -that they betokened a mental condition on the borders of insanity. - -Her sitting-room was quite square, with a window to the east, -another to the west, and a third to the south. It was painted yellow -throughout; the curtains were of orange damask, and a patch of -yellow rug occupied the centre of the polished floor. - -In the midst of this chamber sat Madame Berthier, making cat’s -cradles, her favourite amusement, and one with which she would occupy -herself during long hours of loneliness. By constant practice she -was able to accomplish all the usual changes with the threads very -rapidly, and she was frequently puzzling out new arrangements with an -interest and application completely engrossing. - -On her shoulders couched a Persian cat, of great size, with long -hair. It had been white originally, but Madame Berthier had dyed it -saffron; the saffron stains were on her grey hands, as she wrought -with her threads. The appearance of the cat was unpleasant, for being -by nature an Albino, its eyes were pink, and they seemed unnaturally -faint, when contrasted with the vivid colouring of its coat. The -cat sat very composedly on her shoulder, with its round yellow face -against hers, and its paws dangling on her bosom. - -‘Be patient, Gabriel,’ said she to the cat, who moved uneasily on her -shoulder, as his quick ear caught the sound of steps in the corridor. -‘We must all acquire patience; it is a heavenly virtue, but it is, -oh! so hard to obtain.’ - -Berthier tapped at the door, opened it, and introduced himself and -Gabrielle. - -The cat rose, balancing itself nicely where it had been reposing, -set up its back and tail, stretched itself, and then re-settled. - -‘Well now, madame,’ said Monsieur Berthier; ‘making cradles still, I -see.’ - -The lady worked vigorously with her threads, and did not look up or -answer her husband. - -‘Look this way, Madame Plomb.’ - -She threw up her head, bit her lower lip, and stamped her foot -impatiently. As her eye lit on Gabrielle it remained fixed, and her -complexion became more deadly. - -‘I have brought a new servant to attend on you,’ continued Berthier. -‘Are you listening to me, Madame Plomb?’ - -Again she stamped, but she would not speak. - -‘You will take great care of her, my Angel! and you will pay especial -regard to her morals, mind that, my Beauty! I have promised her -father that she shall be under your charge, and that you shall take -care that she be virtuous and pious.’ - -Madame Berthier would neither look at him, nor speak to him. He knew -that she struggled daily with herself to maintain composure, and to -restrain her tongue, in his presence, and he amused himself inventing -a thousand means of insulting and irritating her, till he had wrought -her into frenzy. - -‘I am sure you will like this new addition to your little staff,’ -continued the Intendant, placing his large hands on Gabrielle’s -shoulders, and thrusting her forward. - -The girl cowered under his touch, and an expression of horror and -loathing passed across her face. Madame Berthier, whose eyes were -fastened on her, saw this and laughed aloud. - -‘What! not a word for your Zoozoo! Cruel madame, not to look at, or -speak to, your own devoted husband.’ - -No; not a look or a word. The poor wife sought to ignore him. She -began diligently to weave her cat’s cradles, though her eyes still -rested on Gabrielle. Maybe she trembled a little, for the yellow cat -mewed fretfully, and shifted its position slightly, then rubbed its -head against her blue cheek, as if beseeching not to be disturbed. - -‘This little mignonne is a gem--a beauty of the first water. You must -be very careful of her; such pretty little faces would bewitch half -mankind. Look, madame! what a ripe luscious tint, what a rich and -glowing complexion, like a peach, is it not? It is flesh--actually -warm, soft, rosy flesh; it is not _lead_.’ - -Madame Berthier uttered a cry at this coarse insult, and covered her -face with her hands. - -‘You should wear gloves, Madame Plomb,’ continued her husband, ‘and -then you might cover your face with some prospect of concealing your -complexion. But what do I see? You have been dyeing your hands with -saffron. Actually trying to gild lead.’ - -The wretched woman threw down her cat, sprang to her feet and fled -out of the room, down the corridor which extended the length of the -house, from one tower to the other. She was caught almost instantly -in her father’s arms. - -‘How now!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘How is this, my little Imogène? In -a pet! one of your little naughty tantrums! Naughty Imogène!’ - -‘My father!’ cried the unhappy woman, ‘why did you marry me to that -man?’ - -‘Tut, tut,’ said M. Foulon, disengaging himself from her. ‘You ask me -that so often, that I am obliged to formularize my answers and your -questions into a sort of catechism. How does it begin? Ah! Where were -you married? _Answer_: At S. Sulpice. Who by? _Answer_: By Father -Mafitte. What were you asked? _Answer_: Wilt thou have this man to -thy wedded husband? _Answer_: I will. Now, then, whose doing was it -that you were married to Monsieur Berthier? Why, your own, child!’ - -‘Father, take me away.’ - -‘Imogène, what nonsense! May I offer you my arm to conduct you back -to your yellow chamber?’ - -‘Father,’ she wrung her hands, ‘he insults me.’ - -‘He has his little jokes about your complexion, eh? Bah! you should -not be such a baby as to mind his playful banter. He is a boy, gay at -heart, and very facetious.’ - -‘It is not that,’ moaned the wretched woman; ‘he brings young girls -here,--and I his wife have to receive them, and---- Oh, father! take -me away, or I shall go raging mad!’ - -‘Bah! young men will be young men--not that Berthier is such a youth, -either! You must not exact too much. Look at your face in the glass, -and then say,--can he find much satisfaction therein? Is it not -natural that the butterfly should seek brighter and fairer flowers?’ - -‘You have no heart.’ - -‘Imogène, I never pretended to possess those gushing sentiments which -make fools of men and women. I am a man of reason, not sentiment. I -have no passions. You never saw me angry, jealous, loving,--never! I -think, I reason, I calculate, I do not feel and sympathize; I am all -intelligence, not emotion. Bah! Take things coolly. Say to yourself, -What is reasonable? Is it reasonable that Berthier should profess -ardent passion for me, who am plain and blue? No, it is preposterous; -therefore I acquiesce in what is natural.’ - -‘You take his part against me.’ - -‘I take the part of common sense, Imogène. I cannot say to Berthier, -be a hypocrite, go against nature. I always accept human nature as I -find it, and I never attempt to force the stream into a channel too -strait for it.’ - -Madame Berthier stood looking from side to side distractedly. ‘I find -no help anywhere!’ she moaned. - -‘Imogène, you have plenty to eat, good wine to drink, first-rate -cookery; you employ an accomplished milliner; your rooms are -handsomely furnished; you can drive out when it pleases you. What -more _can_ you want?’ - -‘Love,’ answered the poor woman. ‘I am always hungry. I am always in -pain here,’ she pointed to her breast; ‘I want, I want, I want, and I -never get what I desire.’ Then uttering another cry, like that which -had escaped her when her husband insulted her, and running along the -corridor from side to side, like a bird striving to escape, she beat -the walls on this side, then on that, with her hands, uttering at -intervals her piercing wail. - -Berthier came into the corridor and joined his father-in-law. ‘There -is nothing more offensive to persons of sentiment than fact,’ said -Foulon, brushing the tobacco from his nose and cheeks. ‘Before fact -down go Religion, Poetry, Ethics, Art. People live in a dream-world, -which they people with phantoms. Show them that all is a delusion, -and they are wretched--they love to be deceived. Bah! I hate -sentiment. It is on sentiment that Religion and Morality are based. -What is sentiment? On my honour, I cannot tell.’ - -On reaching the end of the corridor, Madame Berthier stood still, and -turning towards her husband and father, she raised her hands, and -cried, as she did in church: - -‘Avenge me on my adversaries!’ - -Then, becoming calmer, she called: - -‘Gabriel!’ For the cat was standing at her door, and was mewing. The -strangely-dyed beast, hearing her call, darted past the two men, and -seating itself before her, looked up into her face. - -‘My faithful Gabriel!’ she said. Then with a single bound it reached -her shoulder, and placing its fore paws together balanced itself, -whilst she walked slowly up the passage. The appearance of the woman -in the dusk, in her long black gown and shawl, with her frightful -head on one side to give room for the cat to stand comfortably, was -wild and ghostly. - -She approached her husband and her father slowly. As she passed them, -she turned her face towards Foulon, and said: ‘I have looked to you -for help,’ she touched him with her stained finger. ‘I have looked to -you for help,’ she touched Berthier on the breast, turning to him; -‘I find none.’ Throwing her hand up and pointing out of the window -towards the evening star, that glittered above the horizon,--‘Queen -of heaven, I have looked to you! And,’ she continued in a low voice, -hoarse with suppressed emotion, ‘if she gives me none, I shall seek -help in myself.’ - -‘That is sensible, Imogène,’ said Foulon; ‘one should find resources -in one’s self.’ - -‘Mind,’ she said, sharply; ‘I ask for love. If I do not get it, I -take revenge.’ Then she swept into her room, and shut the door. - -Gabrielle was there in her white dress and veil, scarcely less pale -than her garments. The roses in her wreath exhaled a strong odour as -they faded. She stood where she had been placed by Berthier, nearly -in the middle of the room. The evening was rapidly closing in. The -sun had set, but through the west window the light from the horizon -glimmered. - -Madame Berthier threw herself into a seat and looked at Gabrielle. - -‘Are you a bride?’ she asked, in a harsh voice. - -‘No, madame,’ answered the girl, trembling. - -‘Ah! no. You were one of those in procession to-day.’ - -‘Yes, madame.’ - -‘How came you here?’ - -‘Madame, I think I fainted at the thunderclap, and I remember no -more, till I was brought through the yard into this house.’ - -‘Have you been here before?’ - -‘Madame, I have been to the Chateau sometimes with my roses.’ - -‘What roses?’ - -‘The bunches that I sell.’ - -‘Then you are the flower-girl, are you, whom I have seen at the gate -sometimes?’ - -‘Yes, madame.’ - -‘Why have you been brought here, do you know?’ - -Gabrielle burst into tears, threw herself on her knees, and -stretching out her hands towards the lady entreated:--‘Oh madame, -dear, good madame! send me home, pray let me out of this dreadful -house. Madame, I want to go home to my father; pray, good madame, for -the love of Our Lady!’ - -‘Child,’ said Berthier’s wife, ‘are you not here by free choice?’ - -‘Oh no, no!’ cried Gabrielle. ‘Only let me go, that I may run home.’ - -‘Where do you live?’ - -‘At Les Hirondelles.’ - -‘What is your name?’ - -‘Gabrielle André.’ - -‘Gabrielle?’ - -‘Yes, madame.’ - -The strange woman uttered a scream of joy; caught her cat in her -hands, and held it up before the girl. - -‘See, see!’ she said; ‘this is Gabriel, my own precious Gabriel!’ - -She softened towards the poor child at once. - -‘Come nearer,’ she said. ‘What have you let fall? Ah! your taper. -They brought that with you, did they?’ - -‘Madame, I think I had it fast in my hand.’ - -‘Wait,’ said the lady. She struck a light, and kindled the taper, -which Gabrielle had raised from the floor. - -‘Just so,’ continued she; ‘hold the light before you, and remain -kneeling, that I may see your face; but do not kneel to me; see! turn -yonder, towards the western sky, and the dying light, and the evening -star.’ - -Gabrielle slightly shifted her position, too frightened to do -anything except obey mechanically. - -‘You are very pretty,’ said Madame Berthier. ‘How very beautiful you -are! Do you know that?’ - -‘Madame!’ Gabrielle was too much alarmed to colour. - -‘Now, tell me, do you know M. Berthier?’ - -‘Oh, madame!’ the girl said, with a sob, as her tears began to flow; -‘I dread him most of all. He frightens me. He is wicked; he pursues -me with his eyes. Father had just promised that I should never come -to this house again, because, because----’ she was interrupted by -her tears. - -‘Go on, Gabrielle.’ - -‘Because he ran after me in the forest, and the curé saved me from -him, just as he caught me up.’ - -‘You do not like Berthier; I saw it in your face.’ - -‘Oh, madame! how could I?’ - -The lady laughed a little, chuckling to herself. Presently she -addressed Gabrielle again. - -‘Do you know me?’ - -‘No, madame.’ - -‘Do you know my name?’ - -‘You are called Madame Plomb,’ said Gabrielle, hesitatingly. - -The woman stamped passionately on the floor, and jerked the yellow -cat off her shoulder. - -‘Who told you that? Why do you call me that?’ - -‘Oh, madame! I am so sorry, but I heard Monsieur Berthier address you -by that name. I meant no offence.’ - -‘Listen to me, child.’ The lady drew her chair towards Gabrielle. -‘Give me your light.’ She snatched the taper from her trembling hand, -and waved it before her face. ‘Look on me,’ she said; ‘yes, look, -look. Now you know why they call me the Leaden!’ She blew out the -candle, and continued: ‘It is only those who hate me who call me by -that name; only those, remember, whom I hate. Beware how you call me -that again.’ - -She leaned back, and remained silent for some minutes. Gabrielle’s -tears flowed fast, and she sobbed heavily. She was not only -frightened, but weary and faint, and sick at heart. - -‘Shall I protect you?’ asked the lady, at length. - -‘Madame! I pray you,’ pleaded Gabrielle, through her tears. - -‘Then I will. He shall not touch you. You shall sleep in my little -ante-room.’ - -‘May I not go home?’ - -‘Alas! poor child, how can you? The gates and doors are locked. The -walls are high; and if you scaled the walls, the bloodhounds would be -after you. Perhaps you may go home soon, but not now; you cannot now!’ - -After another pause, she said: - -‘Gabrielle, stand up.’ - -The girl instantly rose. - -‘Gabriel, Gabrielle, my cat and you! I love my cat, why not you? Will -you kiss me?’ - -Passionately she caught the girl to her bosom, and kissed her brow -and lips and cheek. Then laughing, she said: - -‘Yes! Gabrielle, you must be here awhile, and you shall hold the -threads, and help to make cat’s cradles.’ - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -The moon, in her first quarter, hung in a cloudless sky over the -valley of the Charentonne, reflected from every patch and pool of -water. The poplars, like frosted silver, cast black shadows over the -white ground. The frogs were clamorous, for their domain had been -unexpectedly extended. - -Thomas Lindet, in his attic, was putting together a few clothes into -a bundle, to take with him to Évreux, as he was about to start next -morning, after the first mass at six. He occupied two rooms in a -small cottage opposite the church. It was an old house, in plaster -and timber, with a thatched roof, and consisted of a ground-floor -and an upper storey. The ground-floor was occupied by an old woman, -and the priest tenanted the rooms above. His sitting-room, in which -he was making up his bundle, was clean; the walls were laden with -whitewash, as was also the sloping ceiling. The window was covered -with a blue-and-white striped curtain of bedticking; the chairs were -of wood, unpolished, with wooden seats. Over the chimney-piece were -a crucifix and two little prints, one of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the -other of S. Jerome. His small library occupied a few deal shelves on -one side of the fireplace. Besides his breviary, there were few books -in binding, except an old copy of Atto of Vercellæ on the ‘Sufferings -and Persecutions of the Church,’ and a Geoffrey of Vendôme on -‘Investitures.’ But there were many pamphlets and polemical tracts, -such as were circulated at that time in France, and in paper covers, -torn and dirty, were Montesquieu’s ‘Esprit des Lois,’ and Rousseau’s -‘Emile.’ - -Having completed his preparations, the priest blew out his candle, -drew the curtain, and looked out of his window, pierced through the -thatch. The church of S. Cross was exactly opposite, on the other -side of the small square, and the moon brought its sculpture into -relief. The gothic tower, surmounted by an ugly bulbous cap, cut the -clear grey sky; the delicate tracery of the windows stood out like -white lace against the gloom of the bell-chamber. - -The west front had been remodelled in 1724, and, though Lindet, -with the taste of the period, admired it, no one at the present day -would approve of the stiff Italian pedimented doorway, with its four -pillars incrusted in the wall, or of the niche in the same style, -containing the effigy of the Empress Helena bearing the cross, which -intrudes upon the elegant gothic west window. - -After the excitement of the day, a reaction had set in, and Lindet -felt dispirited, and disposed to question the judiciousness of his -purpose. He leaned on the window-sill listening to the trill of the -frogs, sweetened by distance, and to the throbbing of the clock in -the tower. From where he stood, he could see the rosy glimmer of -the sanctuary lamp, through the west window of the church. At this -window, looking towards the light which burned before the Host, he -was wont every evening to say his prayers, before retiring to rest. - -He put his delicate hands together. The mechanism of the clock -whirred, and then midnight struck. The notes boomed over the sleeping -town, and lost themselves among the wooded hills. All at once -Lindet’s mind turned to the poor child for whose preservation he had -laboured ineffectually that day. Then, fervently, he prayed for her. - -She was seated at the window in Madame Plomb’s antechamber, fast -asleep, with her head on her hands. The window was wide open, and the -shutters were back, so that the moon and air entered, and made the -chamber light and balmy. - -About nine o’clock, the cook had been to madame’s room to tell -Gabrielle that she was to sleep with her at the other end of the -house; but Madame Berthier, full of violence, had struck and driven -the woman out of the room, and she had retired, very angry, and -threatening to tell ‘Monsieur.’ The woman had been as good as her -word; but Berthier and Foulon being together in the billiard-room -playing, she had not ventured to interrupt them till they left, -which was at midnight. The cook was very angry, and, like an insulted -servant, threatened to leave the house. - -‘Ah! so so!’ exclaimed Berthier. ‘We shall see. You were right to -obey my orders. Gustave! come here; follow me, Antoinette; the girl -shall be removed immediately, awake or asleep, by gentleness or by -force.’ - -The silver light struck across the face of the sleeping girl, still -wet with tears, and streaked the floor. An acacia intercepted some -of the light, and as a light wind stirred, it produced an uneasy -shiver over the floor. A leaf, caught in a cobweb, pattered timidly -against one of the window-panes. A ghost-moth fluttered about the -room, its white wings gleaming in the moonlight, as it swerved and -wheeled, while its shadow swerved and wheeled in rhythm, on the -sheet of Gabrielle’s couch, as though there were two moths, one -white, the other black, dancing up and down before one another. The -shadows of the acacia foliage made faces on the floor. Dark profiles, -hatchet-shaped, with glistening eyes and mouths that opened and shut, -faces of old women munching silently, silhouettes of demons butting -with their horns, or nodding, as though they would say,--Wait, wait, -wait! We shall see! - -The white veil of the sleeping girl lay on the floor, in a line. The -flickering lights crossed it, and the shadows of the leaves resembled -black flat insects, and long slugs, scrambling over it, in a mad -race. The foliage of the acacia whispered, and the pines of the -forest close by hummed as the wind stirred their myriad vibrating -spines. The air laden with the fragrance of the resin, was not balmy -only, but warm as well. An owl in the woods called at intervals -to-whoo! and waited, expecting an answer, then called again. Then -the night-hawk screeched, and fluttered among the trees. In the -garden-plots whole colonies of crickets chirped a long quivering song -in a thousand parts, perfectly harmonized, all night long, with a -rapidity of execution perfectly amazing. - -From Bernay sounded distant, yet distinct, the chime of midnight. -At the same moment the hounds in the yard became restless, and gave -tongue spasmodically. The girl sighed in sleep, and turned her head -from the light; then she woke, started up, and uttered a scream. The -door of the room was open, and Berthier stood in it, looking at her, -with the cook and Gustave in the background. At the same moment, -a black figure glided from behind the window-curtains, and stood -between him and her. - -‘Sacré! Madame Plomb, you are up late,’ observed the Intendant, -advancing into the chamber, and shutting the door behind him upon the -two servants. ‘May I trouble you, Madame Plomb, to retire to your -couch?’ He stepped towards her. - -The woman drew herself up, raised her arm, and the moon flashed along -a slender steel blade she brandished. - -‘Nonsense, my charmer!’ said Berthier; ‘no acting with me. Put down -that little toy and begone.’ - -‘Stop!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you see that veil there; there, beast, -there on the floor?’ - -‘Perfectly well, my angel.’ - -‘Pass over it, if you dare.’ - -‘I dare!’ he said scornfully, but without advancing. - -‘If your foot transgresses that limit, I swear, beast! it will be -your death.’ - -He looked at her; the moon was on her blue-grey face, and she looked -at him. Her countenance was terrible: in that light, it was like the -face of a fiend. - -‘You are a devil,’ he said. - -‘You have made me one,’ she answered. - -Deadly hatred glared out of her wild black eyes; there was resolution -in the set lips and hard brow, and Berthier felt that what his wife -threatened, that she would execute. He could not endure the flash and -glitter of her eye-balls, and he lowered his. - -‘I hate you,’ she muttered; ‘I hate you, beast! Do you think I should -shrink from _your_ blood? Is your blood so dear to me? Should I -shrink from your corpse--from your dead face? I have only seen the -living one, and that is to me so odious, that I long to see the -dead one; it is sure to be more pleasant. Those red inflamed eyes of -yours, are they so bewitching that I should not wish to close them -for ever? Those lips, which I have never kissed, beast! I promise to -kiss them one day. I promise it, remember. They shall be stiff and -cold then. That shall be my one and only kiss.’ - -The hounds barked furiously without, so furiously that they disturbed -the house. Adolphe opened his window and called: ‘Be quiet, my -children; be good boys, there! Pigeon and Poulet!’ - -Gustave roared from the window of the corridor: ‘A thousand devils! -shall I not murder you to-morrow, if you are not quiet this instant?’ - -The acacia creaked and crackled. - -Berthier moved towards the window, he was determined to disarm his -wife, if possible. - -‘Where are you going?’ she asked, sharply. - -‘I am going to look out, and see why the dogs are so furious.’ - -‘You cannot see into the yard from this window.’ - -‘No, but I can see if anyone is without.’ Next moment--‘Imogène! I -believe that there must be some one.’ - -She lowered her knife, with the fickleness of her disorder; the idea -distracted her attention. - -‘Where?’ - -‘Come and look.’ - -She stepped towards the window. Instantly, quick as thought, he -struck her wrist, and sent the knife flying from her grasp, across -the room. - -Gabrielle in an agony of terror cried, ‘My father! Oh, my father!’ - -Madame Berthier uttered a moan of pain and rage. Her husband would -have grappled with her at once, but that something whizzed in at -the open window, and struck him in the eye with such force that he -staggered backward, and the blood burst from the lid and streamed -over his cheek. - -Madame Berthier recovered her knife, and threatening him with it, -drove him, blinded with pain and blood, out of the room. - -Who can describe the horror of conscience to which Matthias André -was a prey that night? He remained after the departure of Berthier, -for some hours half stupefied, looking at the money which he held -in his hand; then he tied it up in a piece of rag, and placed it in -his bosom; but it was too heavy there, it seemed to weigh him down, -so he fastened it to the belt of his blouse, which he now put on. -To distract his mind, he began to replace in the boxes the clothes -he had drawn from them, but, as he huddled them in, unfolded, they -would not all go in. In the dusk, the garments which were not thus -disposed of looked like bodies of human beings waiting to be buried. -He threw out all the clothes from the trunks again, and began to fold -them, but he did this work clumsily, and there remained still one of -Gabrielle’s dresses uncoffered. The sight of this distressed him, it -reminded him of his daughter too painfully, so he hid it under the -table. Then he could not resist the desire to peer at it where it -lay, and the fancy came upon him that she lay there dead, and that -he had killed her; so he fled up the ladder into his loft, and cast -himself upon his bed. - -But there was no rest there. The transactions of that evening haunted -him. He tried to calculate what had best be done with the money; but -no! all he could think of was that this was the price of his child’s -honour and happiness. - -Remembering that he had not taken any supper, he descended the ladder -and sought in the dark for a potato pasty; but when he had found it -he could not eat it, for he considered that it had been made by _her_ -fingers. He tried to uncork a bottle of wine, but could not find the -screw, so he broke the neck, and drank from it thus; the broken glass -cut his lips, for his hand shook. Gabrielle’s old gown under the -table he could not see, it was too dark, but he was constrained by a -frenzied curiosity to creep towards it, and feel if it were there. -Yes; he felt it, and he shrank from the touch. - -The moon shone in at his bedroom window. The light distressed him, -when he returned to his couch; so he tried to block up the window by -erecting his coat against it, supported by a pitchfork and a broom. -It remained thus for just five minutes, and then the structure gave -way, and the moonlight flowed in again. - -André could bear the house no longer. He again descended the ladder, -stole past the table, and opening his door, went outside. He took -the path across the foot-bridge and entered the forest. He resolved -to ascend the hill, and see the outside of the château in which lay -his child. The way was dark, the shadows of the pines and beech-trees -obscured it, but the wretched man knew it well, and he walked along -it, trembling with fear. He heard voices in the forest, he saw faces -peeping from behind the tree-boles. The rustle of birds in the -pine-tops made him start; but he held on his way. - -When he reached the castle Malouve, he stood still. His brow was -dripping. The clock of Bernay parish church struck twelve. At the -same time the dogs scented him, and began to bark. - -The unhappy father prowled round the building, looking up at every -window, his every limb shaking with apprehension. - -Suddenly, from an open casement he heard a cry. He knew the tone -of that voice. The cry pierced his heart. He ran to the foot of -the building which rose from the sward at this spot, and looked up -at the window. An acacia-tree stood at a little distance from the -wall, and he proceeded to scramble up it. The trunk was smooth, and -presented no foot-hold. He was a clumsy man, and could not mount -well; the branches were brittle and broke with him. He heard voices -in the chamber whence his daughter’s cry had reached him, he grappled -with the tree and worked himself up a little way with his knees. -The leaves shook above him as though the acacia responded to every -pulsation of his heart. - -‘Father! Oh, my father!’ - -That call to him--it seemed denunciatory, reproachful--burst upon -his ear. He tore the money from his belt, and with all his force, he -hurled it through the window; then he slid down the tree and fled. - -He fled, but the cry pursued him; it echoed from every wall of the -château. He heard it in the bay of the bloodhounds; it came to him -from the dark aisles of the forest, the wind swept it after him; the -owl caught it up and towhoo’d it, the night-hawk screamed it. - -He put his hands to his ears to shut it out. But the cry was within -him, and it echoed through and through and through him-- - -‘Father! Oh, my father!’ - -The cry of a child betrayed by its own parent,--the cry of a slave -sold by its own father,--the cry of a soul given up to devils by -him who had given it being,--the cry of a loving heart against him -it had loved, against him for whom the hands had worked gladly, the -feet tripped nimbly, the lips smiled sweetly, and the eyes twinkled -blithely-- - -‘Father! Oh, my father!’ - -As he sprang over the stile, as he raced to the foot-bridge, as he -traversed it, from the white face that glared up at him from the -water, from the rustling reeds, from the soughing willows, from his -own white and black home as he reached it-- - -‘Father! Oh, my father!’ - -In his horror and despair he threw himself in at the door, and ran -towards the ladder. He scrambled up it; and drawing it up after him -fastened a rope that lay coiled on his floor to it, and he noosed the -other end about his neck, and he crawled to the hole in the floor -through which he had mounted and drawn the ladder, and the cry came -up to him from below. - -He leaped towards it, and so sought to silence it. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -All Évreux was out of doors, as Thomas Lindet, travel-soiled and -weary, entered the city. The double avenue of chestnuts before the -church and seminary of S. Taurin was thronged with people, and a -large triumphal arch spanned the road just beyond the square, the -sides adorned with pilasters of gilt paper and banks of flowers, -and the summit crowned with a banner emblazoned with the lilies of -France. In the tympanum of the arch was a niche lined with crimson -cloth destined to contain a statue of S. Louis, lent for the occasion -by the superior of the seminary. The raising of the pious king to -his destined position was an operation which engaged all eyes, and -provided conversation for all tongues. - -It is wonderful how much noise and commotion attends the execution of -a very simple performance in France. Every spectator is by the fact -of his presence constituted an adviser, and those engaged on the work -which attracts observation harangue and expostulate and protest at -the top of their voices. - -Those whose task it was to translate S. Louis from the ground to his -elevated pedestal, proceeded with their duty in a somewhat clumsy and -unworkmanlike manner. A pulley had been erected at the apex of the -gable above the arch, and a cord ran over it into the midst of the -crowd which pulled promiscuously and with varying force at the rope. -The other end of the rope was attached to the neck of the monarch, -and as he was raised he dangled in the centre of the archway, much -more like a felon undergoing the extreme penalty of the law, than a -canonized saint. In the meanwhile, two vociferous men in blue blouses -and trowsers, half way up two ladders, were supposed to steady the -king, but on account of the jerky manner in which the crowd hauled at -the rope, they were unable to achieve their object, and they vented -their displeasure in oaths. All at once there was a crash. The head -had separated from the body--the statue was in plaster; and first -down fell the trunk and then the crowned head. The catastrophe caused -a sudden silence to fall on the multitude, but it was soon broken by -execrations and invocations of ‘mille diables.’ Then a general rush -was made to inspect the remains of the decapitated king. - -‘There was absolutely no piece of wood or wire to keep head and trunk -together!’ exclaimed one of the workmen, elevating the fragment of -head. ‘Of course it broke off. Who ever heard of a plaster cast -without a nucleus of solid wood or iron in the middle!’ - -‘Out of the way! make room,’ shouted a coachman, cracking his whip; -and the crowd started aside to allow a handsome lumbering coach to -roll by, and pass under the triumphal arch. Two heads were protruded -from the windows, to see what caused the commotion and throng; and -Lindet, happening to look in that direction, saw the faces of Foulon -and Berthier. - -‘Why are all these preparations being made?’ asked Lindet of a -shopman near him. - -‘Ah!’ exclaimed the man; ‘don’t you know that Monsieur the Prince is -coming?’ - -Lindet pushed up the street, passed the Palais de Justice, a -handsome, massive Italian building, and walked straight to the -bishop’s palace. Having reached Évreux, he would do his business and -leave it. - -The gate to the palace was decorated with evergreens and banners, the -arms above the archway had been re-gilt and re-coloured; S. Sebastian -was very pink, exuded very red blood from his wounds, and the lion of -monseigneur ramped in a refulgent new coat of gold leaf. - -The wooden doors were wide open, displaying the interior of the -quadrangle; a long strip of crimson carpet conducted from the gate -over the pavement to the principal entrance to the house; footmen in -episcopal purple liveries, their hair powdered, skipped hither and -thither. - -Lindet walked straight into the court, and asked to see the bishop. - -‘You must wait in the office, yonder,’ said the servant he addressed, -with impatience. - -‘Please to tell the bishop that I desire to see him.’ - -‘You’re mighty imperious. Perhaps he may not want to see you.’ - -‘Never mind. Tell him that Thomas Lindet, curé of Bernay, has walked -to Évreux on purpose to see him, and see him he must.’ - -‘Well, well, sit down in the office.’ - -Lindet entered the little room, and waited. He waited an hour, and no -bishop came; he rang a bell, but it was not answered; then he stepped -out into the court, and catching a servant by the arm, insisted on -his message being conveyed to monseigneur. - -‘This is a mighty inconvenient time,’ said the man; ‘don’t you know -that the Prince is expected?’ - -‘But not here.’ - -‘Yes, here; he stays at the palace.’ - -Lindet stepped back in astonishment. - -‘What does the priest want?’ asked the butler, who was passing at -that moment. - -‘I have come here desiring to speak with monseigneur. I have come -from Bernay on purpose.’ - -‘Get along with you,’ said the butler; ‘what do you mean by intruding -at this time? Don’t you know that his lordship only sees the parsons -on fixed days and hours? Get out of the court at once, you are in the -way here.’ - -‘I shall not go,’ said the curé, indignantly; ‘I shall not move from -this spot till my message has been taken to the bishop. He may be -just as indisposed to receive me to-morrow as to-day.’ - -‘Ay! he won’t see any of you fellows till the latter end of next -week. So now be off!’ - -‘What is the matter?’ asked a voice from an upper window. ‘Chopin, -who is that?’ - -The butler and the priest looked up. At an open window stood -Monseigneur de Narbonne-Lara, in a bran-new violet cassock and -tippet, his gold pectoral cross rubbed up, his stock very stiff, and -his dark hair brushed and frizzled. ‘What is all this disturbance -about, Chopin, ay?’ - -‘Monseigneur!’ replied the butler, bowing to the apparition, ‘here is -a curé from Bernay, who persists that he must see your lordship.’ - -‘Tell him, Chopin, that I am engaged, and that this is not the proper -day.’ - -‘Monseigneur,’ began the butler, again bowing; but Lindet interrupted -him with-- - -‘I want to speak for one moment to your lordship.’ - -‘Who are you?’ - -‘I am Thomas Lindet, curé of S. Cross.’ - -‘Oh! indeed. Friday week, at 2 P.M.,’ said the bishop, shutting the -window and turning away. - -Lindet remained looking after him. The bishop stood a moment near the -window, with his back towards the light, meditating; then he turned -again, opened the casement, and called-- - -‘Chopin, you may give him a glass of cider, and then send him off.’ - -‘Yes, monseigneur.’ - -He slammed the window, and walked away. - -Lindet had much trouble in finding an inn which had a spare bed to -let. The Grand Cerf was full and overflowing; the Cheval Blanc, -nearly opposite, seemed to be bursting out at the windows, for they -were full of heads protruded to a perilous distance, gazing up the -Paris road; the Golden Ball at last offered an attic bed, which -Lindet was glad to secure. This little inn stood in the Belfry -Square, a market-place, named after an elegant tower containing -a clock and curfew bell, in the purest Gothic of the fourteenth -century, surmounted by a spire of delicate lead tracing, in the same -style as that on the central tower of the Cathedral, but smaller -considerably. The square was tolerably free from people, as monsieur -was not expected to pass through it, and the comparative quiet was -acceptable to the weary priest. After having taken some refreshment, -and rested himself for an hour on his bed, his restless, excited -spirit drove him forth into the street. - -The bells of the Cathedral and S. Taurin were clanging and jingling, -flags fluttered from every tower and spire, musketry rattled, men -shouted, a band played the Descent of Mars, as Lindet issued from -a narrow street upon the square before the Cathedral and saw that -it was crowded, that a current was flowing in the midst of that -concourse, and that the current bore flags and banners, and followed -the music. The priest, mounting upon a kerbstone, saw that the -civic procession was conducting the Prince to the episcopal palace. -He saw the town gilds pass, then the confraternities or clubs, in -their short loose cassocks, knee-breeches, and caps, with sashes -tied across their breasts, emblazoned with their insignia. Three -principal confraternities appeared--that of Évreux, preceded by a -banner figured with S. Sebastian, that of S. Michael, and that of -S. Louis. A band of Swiss soldiers in red uniform followed, and -in the midst of these guards rolled the gaily-painted carriage of -Louis-Stanislas-Xavier, son of France. Lindet saw a portly young man, -of good-humoured but stolid appearance, bowing acknowledgment of -the acclamations which greeted him. That was the Prince. Lindet saw -nothing of the reception at the gate, presided over by the ramping -lion and the wounded saint; he could hear a pompous voice reading, -and he knew that monseigneur was delivering an address from the -Clergy to the Royal Duke, but what was said, how many titles were -rehearsed, how much flattery was lavished, how many expressions of -devotion and respect were employed--all this was lost in the buzz of -the crowd. - -What was he to do? He could not wait for more than a week, as -required by the bishop. The journey had cost him more than he could -well afford, and the expense of the inn at Évreux would far exceed -what his purse contained, if he deducted the twenty-five livres -due to the bishop. He had determined not to give the money to the -_officiel_, but to the prelate himself, and to explain to him the -reason of his having broken the requirements of the Church. - -Entering the Cathedral, he seated himself in the aisle, where he -could be alone and in quiet, to form a plan for seeing the bishop -and coming to an explanation with him; but he could not hit upon any -to his mind. He walked round the church, admiring its height, and -the splendour of its glass. In the Lady Chapel he stood, and his lip -curled with a smile as he observed, in one of the north windows, a -bishop vested in cope and mitre, holding the pastoral staff in one -hand, whilst with the other he threw open the cope to grasp a sword -girded at his side, and exposed a suit of knightly armour, in which -he was entirely enveloped. - -‘Ah!’ said Lindet to himself, ‘when these panes were pictured it was -as now, the shepherd’s garb invested the wolf. And what marvel! If -the Church may not appoint her own pastors, how can she be properly -shepherded? “Qui præfuturus est omnibus ab omnibus eligatur,” said S. -Leo.’ - -The priest lingered on till late in the church. He was weary, and the -Cathedral was more attractive than the little bedroom at the ‘Golden -Ball.’ He took a chair in the chapel of S. Vincent, and was soon -asleep. - -It was afternoon when the prince arrived, and the afternoon rapidly -waned into evening dusk, and the dusk changed to dark. - -At nine, the Cathedral doors were locked, after a sacristan had made -a hasty perambulation of the church to see that it was empty. Lindet -did not hear his call, as he walked down the aisles crying ‘All out!’ -and the verger did not observe the slumbering priest in the side -chapel. Thus it happened that the curé was locked up in the church. - -It was night when he awoke; slowly his consciousness returned, and -with it the recollection of where he was. He was much refreshed. The -walk of many miles every day in hot sun had worn him out, and this -quiet nap in the cool minster had revived him. - -The moon glittered through the windows, and carpeted the aisle -floors. - -He rose from his chair, and leaving the chapel, bent his knee for a -moment before the High Altar, where the lamp hung as a crimson star, -and tried the north transept door which opened into the square. It -was locked. He then sought the west doors, but found them also fast. -Returning down the south nave aisle, he saw lights from without -reflected through the windows on the groined roof, and strains of -instrumental music were wafted in. - -Near the south transept he found a small door: it was the bishop’s -private entrance. Lindet pushed it, and the door yielded. He found -himself in a small cloister leading to the palace. The lights were -brighter, and the music louder. They issued from the palace garden, -of which the priest obtained a full view. - -The garden occupied the whole south side of the Cathedral, and was -well laid out in swath and flowers. A beautiful avenue of limes -extended the whole length of the garden, above the broad moat which -separated the palace precincts on the south from the city. This moat -has been turned into a kitchen-garden in our own day, but in that of -which we are writing it was full of water. The avenue, therefore, -formed a terrace above a broad belt of water, not stagnant, as in -many moats, but kept fresh by a stream flowing through it. - -The modern traveller visiting Évreux, should on no account fail to -walk on the city side of this old moat, for from it he will obtain -the most striking view of the magnificent Cathedral and the ancient -picturesque palace, rising above the lime-trees. A couple of lines -of young trees have been planted, and the half-street turned into a -boulevard; but in 1788, this side of the moat was bare of trees, and -a row of tall houses faced the water, with only a paved road between, -and a dwarf wall pierced at intervals with openings to steps that -descended to the moat, where all day long women soaped and beat dirty -clothes, with much diligence, and more noise. - -Lindet found the garden brilliantly illuminated. Lamps were affixed -to the old walls of the Cathedral, and traced some of its most -prominent features with lines of coloured fire. The statues which, in -imitation of Versailles, the bishop had set up in his flower-garden, -held lanterns. A pond of gold-fish, in the centre of the sward, -surrounded a vase, in which burned strontian and spirits of wine, -casting a red glare into the water, and producing a wild contrast to -the calm white moonlight that lay in flakes upon the gravelled walks. - -The avenue was, however, the centre of light. In it tables were laid, -brilliant with candelabra supporting wax candles, and with coloured -lanthorns slung between the trees, and lamps attached to every trunk. -At intervals also were suspended brass rings, sustaining twenty -candles. Wreaths of artificial flowers, banners, mirrors, statues -holding lights, transparencies, occupied every conceivable spot and -space, and transformed the quiet old lime avenue into a fairy-land -palace. - -The tables were laden with exquisite viands in silver, and glittered -with metal and glass. - -The higher end of the tables was towards the west, and a daïs, -crimson carpeted, raised a step above the soil, supported the board -at which sat the prince, the bishop, and all the most illustrious of -the guests. - -On the opposite side of the moat, a crowd of hungry women and -children strained their eyes to see the nobles and high clergy eat -and drink, which was only next best to themselves eating. - -‘So we are going to have the States-general, after all,’ said the -Duke de la Rochefoucauld, a noble-looking man, with a frank, open -countenance, full of light and dignity. - -‘Yes,’ answered the prince; ‘His Majesty cannot withdraw his summons.’ - -‘You speak as if he wished to do so,’ said M. de la Rochefoucauld. - -‘I am not privy to his wishes,’ answered Louis Stanislas with a -smile on his heavy face; ‘let us not talk of politics, they are dull -and dispiriting subjects.’ Then, turning to the bishop, he said: -‘Monseigneur, I think you could hardly choose a more delightful -retreat than this of yours. To my taste, it is charming. You are -really well off to have such a capital palace and such delightful -gardens. If I were you, nothing would induce me to change them. -Why, look at the Archbishop of Rouen---- By the way, how is the -archbishop?’ he turned to the duke, whose kinsman the prelate was. ‘I -heard he had been seriously unwell.’ - -The Duke de la Rochefoucauld assured ‘monsieur’ that the cardinal was -much better; in fact, almost well. - -‘That is right,’ said the prince. Then again addressing his host, he -continued: ‘No, I assure you, nothing in the world would induce me, -were I you, my Lord Bishop, to desert this see for another.’ - -‘I am hardly likely to have the chance put in my way,’ said the -bishop. - -‘And then,’ pursued Louis, ‘who, having once built his nest in -charming Normandy, would fly to other climes? You are a brave Norman -by birth, I believe, monseigneur?’ Louis had an unfortunate nack of -getting upon awkward subjects. This arose from no desire of causing -annoyance, but from sheer obtuseness. He resembled his brother the -King in being utterly dull, with neither wit nor vice to relieve the -monotony of a thoroughly prosaic character. - -‘No, your grace,’ answered the bishop, slightly reddening, ‘I belong -to a Navarre family. The family castle of Lara is in Spain. The name -Lara is territorial, and was adopted on the family receiving the -Spanish estates and Castle----’ - -‘Excuse me,’ said the prince, interrupting him; ‘but I think, my dear -Lord, we have a ghost before us.’ - -The bishop looked up from his plate, on which his eyes had rested -whilst narrating the family history, and saw immediately opposite -him, standing below the daïs, in ragged cassock, with the buttons -worn through their cloth covers, with dusty shoes, and with a pale, -eager face quivering with feeling, Thomas Lindet, curé of S. Cross at -Bernay. - -The bishop was too much astonished to speak. He stared at the priest, -as though he would stare him down. The guests looked round almost as -much surprised as the prince or the bishop, so utterly incongruous -was the apparition with the place. The look, full of pain, stern and -passionate, contrasted terribly with the faces of the banqueters, -creased with laughter. The pale complexion, speaking too plainly of -want and hunger--why did that look upon them as they sat at tables -groaning under viands and wines of the most costly description? The -dress, so ragged and dusty, was quite out of place amongst silks and -velvets. The bishop waved his hand with dignity, and his episcopal -ring glittered in the lights as he did so. But Lindet did not move. -Then, addressing his butler over the back of his chair, the prelate -said: ‘Chopin, tell the fellow to go quietly. If he is hungry, take -him into the servants’ hall and give him some supper.’ - -Lindet put his hand into his bosom, and drew forth a little moleskin -purse,--a little rude purse, made by one of the acolytes of Bernay -out of the skins of the small creatures he had snared, and given as -a mark of affection to his priest. He emptied the contents of this -purse into his shaking palm, and with agitated fingers, he counted -twenty-five livres, put the rest--it was very little--back into the -mole-skin bag; and then, holding the money, he mounted the daïs. - -‘Go down, sir, go down!’ said the indignant prelate; and several -footmen rushed to the priest to remove him. - -‘Leave me alone,’ said Lindet, thrusting the servants off; ‘I have -business to transact with my diocesan.’ - -‘What do you want?’ asked the bishop, his red face turning purple -with wrath and insulted pride; ‘get you gone, and see me at proper -times and in proper places!’ - -‘Monseigneur,’ answered Lindet in a clear voice, ‘I have walked -through dust and heat from Bernay to speak to you, and I am told I -cannot see you for a whole week.’ - -‘Go, go!’ said the bishop; ‘I do not wish to have an unpleasant -scene, and to order you to be dragged from my table. Go quietly. I -will see you to-morrow.’ - -‘No,’ Lindet answered; ‘you would not receive me privately this -afternoon, now you shall receive me publicly, whether the time -suits or not. You have fined me, unheard, for not having lit my -sanctuary-lamp. I had neither oil nor money; therefore I must pay -you a heavy fine. There is the money--’ he leaned across the table, -and placed it in the bishop’s plate. ‘Count it,--twenty-five livres; -and next time your lordship gives a feast, spend what you have wrung -from me in buying--’ he ran his eye along the table, and it lit on a -pie,--‘goose-liver pasties for your distinguished guests.’ It was a -random shot, a bow drawn at a venture, but it went in at the joints -of the mail, and smote to the heart. - -Lindet turned from the table and walked away. - -The guests sprang to their feet with a cry of dismay. Monseigneur de -Narbonne-Lara had fallen out of his chair in an apoplectic fit. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -‘Come here, children--my angels, Gabriel and Gabrielle!’ said Madame -Plomb, standing in the corridor at an open window. ‘Come and see what -is to be seen.’ - -The yellow cat, who had been seated on a little work-table in -the lady’s boudoir, bounded lightly to the floor, and obeyed its -mistress’s call. Reaching her, the cat leaped to her shoulder, that -being the situation in which it would obtain an uninterrupted view of -what it was called to witness. Gabrielle followed, still in white, -for she had no other clothes with her, looking very pale, with dark -rings round her eyes. - -Madame Berthier made no allusion to the occurrences of the night; -they seemed to have faded from her recollection, and her attention -had been concentrated on cat’s cradles, which she was able to execute -with great ease, now that she had Gabrielle’s fingers on which to -elaborate the changes. - -In the courtyard was Berthier’s travelling carriage, with the horses -attached, and the coachman standing beside them. Foulon and his -son-in-law were near the carriage. - -‘Adolphe! my dressing-case,’ said the old man. - -‘Monsieur, you will find it in the well under the seat.’ - -‘Are the pistols in the sword-case?’ asked Berthier. - -‘Monsieur will find them in the sword-case.’ - -‘You have packed up my green velvet coat, and you have provided silk -stockings?’ asked Foulon. - -‘Monsieur will find everything in his trunk.’ - -‘But you have forgotten the canister of snuff.’ - -‘Monsieur, I ask pardon, it is under the seat.’ - -‘Ah!’ said Foulon, pointing up at the window, and nudging Berthier; -‘contrasts,--see!’ - -The Intendant looked up, and caught sight of the three faces looking -down on the preparations,--the yellow-faced cat, the blue-faced wife, -the pale-faced peasant-girl. - -‘You are surely going to salute the cheeks of your lady, before -you start, my friend,’ said Foulon. Then, in a loud voice to his -daughter,--‘Well now, Imogène, how are you this morning? eh! In rude -health and buoyant spirits. Capital! And how is my little darling? -What! pale as the moon. The naughty dogs must have disturbed your -innocent slumbers. Oh, Poulet! oh, Pigeon! you rascals,’ he shook his -forefinger at the dogs,--‘how shall I forgive you for having broken -the rest of my little mignonne! for having robbed her of her roses! -for having filled her maiden breast with fear! Oh, you dogs! oh, oh!’ - -‘Is everything ready?’ asked Berthier of Adolphe. - -‘Everything--everything,’ replied the footman. - -‘See that the dogs be properly fed, Gustave.’ - -‘Certainly, monsieur.’ - -‘What is the matter with my boy’s eye?’ asked Foulon. ‘It has been -lacerated; it is unusually tender; it is bruised.’ Then, elevating -his voice, and addressing those at the window, ‘Ah! who has been -striking and scratching my good Berthier? I know it was that cat. Oh, -puss! you sly puss, how demure you look! but that is all very well by -day. At night, ah! then you show your claws.’ - -The sheriff, finding that everything necessary was in the carriage, -mounted the steps to the house, and making his way to the corridor -presented himself before his wife, Gabrielle, and the cat. He stood -before them with his eyes down, and with a sullen expression of face. -His right eye was discoloured and cut; it both watered and bled, and -he repeatedly wiped it. - -‘Madame,’ said he, with less of his usual insolence Of manner, ‘your -father and I shall be absent for some days.’ - -‘Look me in the face,’ said his wife. He lifted his eyes for an -instant; the wounded organ evidently pained him, for it was glassy, -and the lid closed over it immediately; the other fell before the -glance of the lady. - -‘Madame,’ he continued, ‘we are about to visit Conches on business, -and, after a delay there of a day, we proceed to Évreux to meet the -Count of Provence. He visits the bishop, and we dine with him at the -palace on Thursday evening.’ - -‘What is that to me?’ asked his wife. - -‘I thought you would like to know, madame.’ - -‘Why do you not call me Madame Plomb?’ - -His eyes fluttered up to hers and fell again. - -‘Because you are a coward,’ said the lady. ‘I know you for a bully -and a coward.’ - -‘Madame, I shall retire,’ he said, scowling. ‘I came here in courtesy -to announce to you our departure, and I meet with insult.’ - -‘What is to become of this child?’ asked the lady, touching Gabrielle. - -‘She remains here,’ answered Berthier; ‘I have engaged her to be your -servant. I have hired her of her father.’ A look of triumph shot -across his flabby countenance: ‘he has received six months’ wage in -advance.’ - -Gabrielle uttered a faint cry and covered her face. - -‘I doubt not he has returned the money,’ said Madame Berthier. ‘See! -in this soiled rag is a sum; it was cast in at the window last night. -If I mistake not, this blood which discolours the linen is yours. It -looks like yours, it feels like yours--ugh! it smells like yours.’ - -‘Madame, I know nothing about that money. I know that I have -agreed with the girl’s father, that he has received payment for her -services, and that I keep her here.’ - -‘Whether she remains here or at home,’ said Madame Berthier, ‘she is -safe from you, as long as I am here to protect her.’ - -‘As long as you are here,’ answered Berthier, as he walked towards -the stairs. Then turning to her, with his foot on the steps, he said, -with a coarse laugh: ‘As long as you are here to protect her! Quite -so, Madame Plomb. But how long will you be here?’ He disappeared down -the stairs, and entering the carriage with Foulon, drove through the -gay iron gates, and was gone. - -‘Gabrielle,’ said Madame Berthier; ‘my dear child, we will seek your -father, and ask him whether this is true. I do not believe it, do -you, Gabriel, my angel!’ she turned her lips to the cat’s ear. The -animal rubbed its chin against her mouth and purred. ‘I understand, -my sweet! you wonder how the money came in at the window, do you not? -Well, perhaps the good man was deceived by that beast, and, when he -found out what sort of a man the beast was, he brought the money -back; he could not get into the house at night, so he cast the silver -through the window. Was it so, Gabriel? You are awake at night, you -walk about in the moonlight, you can see in the dark; tell me, my -seraph! was it so?’ Then catching the girl’s arm, she whispered, -‘Wait, I have not shown you the cat’s castle. You have seen his -net and his coffer, his parlour, his pantry, and now you shall see -his castle, in which we shall shut him up when he is naughty. That -is his Bastille. Have you ever seen the Bastille, Gabrielle? No, of -course you have not. Now come with me, and I will build you the cat’s -Bastille.’ - -The unfortunate woman drew the little peasant-girl into her yellow -room, seated herself in her high-backed chair, and in a moment had -her fingers among the strings. - -‘Take it off, Gabrielle,’ she said. ‘Come, Gabriel! sit quiet, and -you shall see the pretty things we shall construct for you.’ - -The cat obediently settled himself into an observant attitude, with -his head resting between his paws; Gabrielle drew her chair opposite -Madame Berthier, and held up her fingers to receive the threads. - -‘So,’ said the lady; ‘that is the net.’ - -She worked nimbly with her fingers. - -‘I have such trouble when I am alone,’ she said; ‘I have to stretch -the threads on this winding machine, or lay them on the table. -Gabriel is so selfish, he will not make an attempt to assist me. But -then all these contrivances are for him, you know, and he would lose -half the pleasure, if he were made to labour at their construction. -See! this, now, is the cat’s cabinet. I should so much like to do -something, that is, to dye your white dress saffron. You do not know -how becoming it would be. I love yellow and black. I wear black, but -Gabriel wears yellow. There! we have the basket. They used to dress -the victims of the Inquisition in yellow and black, and torture and -burn them in these colours. This is the cat’s parlour. And Jews, -as an accursed race, were obliged to wear yellow, so I have heard. -Among the Buddhists, too, the monks wear saffron habits, in token -that they have renounced the world. This, my dear, is the pantry. -And the Chinese wear it as their mourning colour--their very deepest -mourning. But I like it; it suits my complexion, I think. There! Do -you observe this? How your fingers tremble! This is my own invention. -Put up your fingers, so. Up, up! There, now. You have the cat’s -Bastille, a terrible tower for naughty pusses, when we shut them up. -Ah! what have you done with your shaking, quaking fingers? You have -pulled down, you have utterly dissolved my Bastille, and all the -imprisoned cats will get out!’ - -At the same moment, Gabriel bounded from his perch. - -‘Why, how now!’ exclaimed Madame Berthier; ‘you are crying, my poor -girl! Why do you cry? You lack patience. Ah! that is a great and -saintly virtue, very hard to acquire. Indeed, you can only acquire it -by constant prayer and making cat’s cradles. That is my experience. -Yes, it is patience that you want. We poor women have much to bear in -this world from the wicked men. If we had not religion and trifling -to occupy our thoughts and time, we should go mad. I am sure of it. -Sometimes I feel a burning in my head, but first it comes in my -chest, a fire there consuming me; then it flames up from my heart -into my brain, and sets that on fire, and I should go crazy but for -this. I say my rosary and then I make cradles, and then I say my -chaplet again, and then go back to my threads. Why are you crying?’ - -‘Madame!’ entreated Gabrielle; ‘may I go to my father?’ - -‘But, my dear, I think the beast said your father had engaged you to -him as my servant and companion.’ - -‘Oh, dear madame! you are so kind, pray let me see him and speak to -him.’ - -‘You shall,’ answered the lady; ‘I will accompany you. I like to walk -out, but I go veiled. I frighten children sometimes, and even horses -are afraid of me. Yes; we will go together, and I shall see your -papa! Ah! I long to see your papa! You are Gabrielle, and my cat is -Gabriel. Both were quite white, till I dyed my angel yellow, and I -want to dye your white clothes, and then you will be both just alike. -Who knows, when I see your papa, perhaps we may be alike!’ - -The strange woman went into her bedroom to dress for going out; -presently she came from it, bearing some black garments. - -‘You should have waited,’ said she to Gabrielle; ‘after the Bastille -comes the grave. I was going to make the grave for puss, and then you -pulled my tower down.’ - -When ready for the walk, Madame Berthier parted with many expressions -of tenderness from the yellow cat. It was some time before she could -resolve on going, for she stood in the door wafting kisses to her -‘angel Gabriel,’ and apologising to him with profuse expression of -regret for her absence. - -‘But we shall return soon, my Gabriel! do not waste your precious -affections in weeping for my absence. Soon, soon! And now, adieu! -come on, my Gabrielle.’ - -The walk was pleasant, and Madame Berthier enjoyed it. She insisted -on picking yellow and blue flowers as they went along, and showing -them to her companion. - -‘See!’ she would say; ‘the colours harmonise.’ - -The plantation of pines was soon passed, and then their road -traversed beech copse. The leaves were beginning to turn, for the -drought had affected the trees like an early frost. Among the beech -were hazels, laden with nuts, hardly ripe; fern and fox-gloves grew -rank on the road-side. - -The day was warm, the air languid, being charged with moisture -that rose from the heated and wet earth, so that a haze veiled the -landscape. The flies were troublesome, following Madame Berthier -and Gabrielle in swarms. A squirrel darted across the path and -disappeared up one of the trees. - -‘Oh!’ cried Madame Berthier; ‘if Gabriel had only been here. How he -would have run, how he would have pounced upon that red creature! -Gabriel is so nimble.’ - -‘Ah, madame!’ exclaimed the girl, as they came within sight of the -valley and the Island of Swallows, ‘my poor father has lost his corn.’ - -‘What is the matter?’ - -‘See! the water has been out, and it has flooded our field in which -the wheat was standing uncarried.’ - -‘Alas! the pretty yellow corn,’ said Madame Berthier, ‘your father -must buy some more.’ - -‘He has no money.’ - -‘Yes, child, he has; did not the beast give him your wage? Ah! I -forgot, and he returned it.’ - -They crossed the little foot-bridge. Gabrielle stood still, with her -hand on her heart, and looked round. - -‘I do not see him,’ she said, anxiously. - -‘Oh, the papa is indoors, doubtless.’ - -They reached the front of the cottage. - -‘The garden must have been very gay,’ said Madame Berthier; ‘what -roses! but ah! how the rain has battered them, and the flood has -spoiled the beds. Why do you grow so many pink and white roses? I -like this yellow one.’ - -Gabrielle put her hand on the latch and gently opened the door. She -looked in; it was dark, for the little green blind was drawn across -the window. - -‘Go in, my child,’ said the lady; ‘I will look about me, and then I -shall come to you. I want to see the papa, so much.’ - -The girl stepped into the room, and called her father. - -How silent the house seemed to be! the air within was close and hot. - -‘Father, where are you?’ she called again. - -Madame Berthier was picking some roses, when she heard a scream. -She ran to the cottage-door, sprang in, and saw Gabrielle standing -against the wall, her eyes distended with horror, her hands raised, -and the palms open before her, as though to repel some one or -something she saw. - -‘What is the matter?’ asked madame. ‘It is so dark in here.’ She drew -back the window-curtain. - -‘Ah!’ - -There, in a corner, where the ladder conducting to the upper rooms -had stood, hung Matthias André, with his head on one side, his eyes -open and fixed, the hands clenched and the feet contracted. - -‘Mon Dieu! is that the papa?’ exclaimed Madame Berthier. ‘Why, -really, he is not unlike me. See! our faces are much alike. I am -Madame Plomb, and he is Monsieur Plomb.’ - -The girl was falling. The strange woman carried her out into the open -air. - -‘His complexion is darker than mine,’ she said, musingly; ‘but we are -something alike.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -The shock was too much for Gabrielle’s already excited nerves to -bear, and she remained for several days prostrated with fever. -During this time, Madame Berthier attended her with gentle care and -affection. She administered medicines with her own hand, slept in -the room beside her, or kept watch night and day. The unfortunate -woman having at length found a human being whom she could love, -concentrated upon her the pent-up ardour of her soul. The cat -attracted less attention than heretofore, and for some days his -cradles were neglected. - -If Madame Berthier had been given a companion whom she could love, -in times gone by, and had been less ill-treated by her husband and -neglected by her father, she would never have become deranged; it -is possible that a course of gentle treatment and forbearance from -irritating conduct on the part of M. Berthier might eventually -have restored her already shaken intellect; but such treatment and -forbearance she was not to receive. - -Madame Berthier was walking in the courtyard one day, when Gabrielle -was convalescent. Her husband and father had returned, but she had -seen little of them. The former carefully avoided the wing occupied -by the invalid and his wife, out of apprehension of infection, for he -was peculiarly fearful of sickness; and Foulon did not approach them, -not having occasion. - -As she passed the kennel, she halted to caress the hounds. Poulet -and Pigeon were docile under her hand, and never attempted to fly -at and bite her. She and her father were the only persons in the -château who had the brutes under perfect control; they feared Foulon, -but they loved Madame Plomb. Animals are said to know instinctively -those persons who like them. The poor woman exhibited a remarkable -sympathy with animals, which they reciprocated. The dogs would -never suffer Berthier to approach them without barking and showing -their fangs, because he amused himself in teasing and ill-treating -them; they slunk into their kennels before Foulon’s cold grey eye, -Madame Berthier they saluted with gambols. She patted the dogs, and -addressed them by name. - -‘Well, Pigeon! well, Poulet! how are you to-day? Are you more -reconciled to Gabriel? Ah! when will you learn to love that angel? -He fears you; he sets up his back, and his tail becomes terrible -to contemplate; and you--you growl at him, and you leap towards -him, and I know if you were loose you would devour him. Alas! -be reconciled, and love as brethren.’ Turning to Adolphe, who -approached, she asked, ‘Have they been good boys lately?’ - -‘Madame, their conduct has been superb.’ - -‘That is nice, my brave dogs; I am pleased to hear a good account of -you.’ - -‘Madame, I must except Poulet for one hour. For one hour he -misconducted himself; but what is an hour of evil to an age of good? -it is a drop in an ocean, madame.’ - -‘Did he misconduct himself, Adolphe? How was that?’ - -‘Alas! madame, that I should have to blame him; and yet the blame -does hardly attach to him,--it rests rather on the staple,--the -staple of his chain. It gave way that day that the curé came.’ - -‘What curé?’ - -‘Ah! madame does not know? Monsieur the Curé of Bernay arrived at the -gate, and the brave dog rushed towards him, and would have devoured -him, doubtless, but for the rails. The staple, madame, was out; but -Gustave and I, assisted by your honoured father, secured the dog once -more, and no blood was shed.’ - -‘What brought the curé here?’ - -Adolphe fidgeted his feet, and platted his fingers. - -‘Tell me, Adolphe,’ persisted madame, ‘tell me why M. Lindet came to -this house. These gates are not usually visited by Religion.’ - -‘Madame,’ answered the servant in a low voice, and with hesitation, -‘I think he came here to enquire after the young girl----’ - -‘I understand,’ said the lady. ‘Who spoke to him?’ - -‘It was M. Foulon, your honoured father, who dismissed him.’ - -‘Did the priest seem anxious to obtain information?’ - -‘Madame, I believe so; he seemed most anxious.’ - -‘Thank you, Adolphe. Open the gate for me; I am going to Bernay.’ - -‘Madame will, I am sure, not mention what I have said,’ the man -began, nervously. - -‘Be satisfied; neither M. Berthier nor M. Foulon shall know that you -have mentioned this to me.’ - -‘Madame is so good!’ exclaimed the man, throwing open the gate. - -The unfortunate lady, having gathered her veil closely over her -face, so as completely to conceal it, took the road to Bernay, and, -entering the town by the Rue des Jardins, crossed the square in front -of the Abbey, and speedily made her way to the Place S. Croix, where -dwelt the priest. - -The day being somewhat chilly, Thomas Lindet was seated before the -fire in the kitchen; his brothers, Robert and Peter, were with him. -Robert was an attorney in practice at Bernay, Peter was supposed -to help him in the office, but as the practice was small, and -Peter was constitutionally incapable of attending to business, or -of doing anything systematically, his value was nil. The brothers -were remarkable contrasts. Some years later, when the events of the -Revolution had developed their characters, they were nicknamed Robert -le Diable, Thomas l’Incredule, and Pierre le Fou. It is needless -to say that these names were given them by their enemies. Only in -the first dawn of Christianity do we find a nickname given in a -spirit of charity--Barnabas, the Son of Consolation. These names -were partly just and partly unjust. Robert was never a devil; Thomas -was, perhaps, a doubter; Peter was certainly a fool. Robert had an -intelligent face, much like that of his brother the curé; his lips -were habitually arched with a smile; it was difficult to decide -whether the smile was one of benevolence or of sarcasm. An ironical -twinkle in his eye led most who had dealings with him to suspect that -he was internally jesting at them, when they received from him some -mark of courtesy or esteem. A thorough professional acquaintance with -the injustice of the _ancien régime_, had made him as desirous of -a change as his brother Thomas. He had the same passionate love of -right and liberty, the same vehemence, but his strong clear judgment -completely governed and modulated his impulses. He was scrupulously -honest and truthful. The Revolution rolled its course around him, -and he became one of its most important functionaries, without -compromising his character, without losing his integrity; under every -form of government he served, being found an invaluable servant in -the interest of his country, true to France and to his conscience. -He had no love for power; he dreaded its splendour: he loved only to -have work and responsibility. He was less a man of politics than of -administration. His extreme caution was a subject of reproach, but it -saved his neck from the guillotine in the Reign of Terror, and his -probity, which left him unenriched by the public moneys which had -passed through his hands, preserved him from exile in 1816. Of him -the great Napoleon said: ‘I know no man more able, and no minister -more honest.’ The innumerable difficulties with which he had to deal -in administrative and financial practice during the Revolution, -occupied his close attention, and he shunned public discussion, in -which he knew he should not shine, that he might be the soul of -committees. The Girondins, mistrusting him, thrust him into the arms -of Robespierre, who received him, saying, ‘We shall found Salente, -and you shall be the Fénélon of the Revolution.’ - -Jean Baptiste Robert, to give him his name in full, was little -conscious of the part it was his destiny to play, at the time our -story opens. He and Peter were smoking. - -‘Well, Thomas! what have you gained by this move?’ asked Robert, -alluding to his brother’s expedition to Évreux. - -‘To my mind,’ put in Peter, ‘you have acted very wrongly, and have -not exhibited that respect to constituted authority which the -catechism enjoins.’ - -Thomas had his own misgivings, so he did not answer. - -‘You should have waited,’ said Robert. - -‘That is your invariable advice,’ said Thomas, impatiently; ‘always -wait, wait, wait--till doomsday, I suppose.’ - -‘Till the election of deputies,’ said Robert, between his whiffs; ‘it -is the same.’ - -‘You will be inhibited, brother Thomas,’ Peter observed, as he shook -some of the ashes from his pipe on to the floor; ‘as sure as eggs are -eggs, Monseigneur the Bishop will withdraw your licence, and inhibit -you from preaching and ministering the sacraments. And quite right -too.’ - -‘Why right, Peter?’ asked Thomas. - -‘Because you have gone against constituted authority. I say, -reverence constituted authority; never thwart it. Constituted -authority, in my eyes----’ - -‘Is constituted despotism,’ said Thomas. - -‘No; it is right. Obedience is a Christian virtue; obedience is due -to all who are set over us in Church and State. You have revolted -against constituted authority, brother, and constituted authority -will be down on you. You will be inhibited. Mark my words, you will.’ - -‘No, not yet,’ said Robert. ‘To inhibit you would be to wing the -story, and send it flying through the province. But be cautious for -the future; the least trip will cause your fall.’ - -Madame Berthier tapped at the door, and the priest answered it. - -‘I want to speak with you,’ she said, ‘for one minute.’ - -‘Privately?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘Then walk this way.’ - -He conducted her to his sitting-room, and requested her to be seated. -She did not remove her veil, but told him her name. - -‘You came to Château Malouve in search of Gabrielle André,’ she said. -‘Did they tell you she was there?’ - -‘Madame, I did go in quest of her. Pardon me for speaking plainly, -but I knew she would be in great peril if she were there.’ - -‘You were right, she would have been in great peril; I have protected -her, however.’ - -‘She is with you, then, madame?’ - -‘She is with me at present: she has been very ill. The shock of her -father’s death has been too great for her. She is recovering now.’ - -‘Does the poor child remain with you?’ asked the priest. - -‘At present; but I cannot say for how long. M. Berthier may be -removing to Paris shortly, our time for returning to the capital -approaches, and, if we go there--we--that is Gabriel, Gabrielle and -I.’ - -‘Who is Gabriel, madame?’ - -‘An angel.’ - -‘Pardon me, I do not understand.’ - -‘He is my solace, my joy.’ - -‘Madame!’ - -‘He is my cat.’ - -‘Proceed, I pray.’ - -‘If we, that is, Gabriel, Gabrielle and I go to Paris, I cannot be -sure that I shall be able to protect the girl. Here, in the country, -servants are not what they are in Paris. There they are creatures of -the beast!’ - -‘Of whom, madame?’ - -‘Of the beast--of my husband. What am I to do then? They will do what -Berthier orders them; they will separate her from me; they will lock -me up. They have done so before; they will even tear my angel from my -shoulder.’ - -‘Your angel, madame?’ - -‘My Gabriel, my cat. I have great battles to keep him near me, how -can I assure myself of being able to retain her?’ - -‘What is to be done, then?’ - -‘She cannot go home to her blue father; she cannot stay with yellow -Gabriel. I ask you what is to be done.’ - -Lindet paused before he replied. The lady puzzled him, her way of -speaking was so strange. He looked intently at her veil, as though -he desired to penetrate it with his eyes. Madame Berthier saw the -direction of his eyes, and drew the veil closer. - -‘Why do you stare?’ she asked; ‘my face is not beautiful: it is -terrible. The beast calls me Madame Plomb, and I hate him for it; -but,’ she drew close to the priest and whispered into his ear, ‘I -know now how to make him blue, like me,--how to turn M. Berthier into -M. Plomb. We shall see, we shall see one of these days!’ - -‘Madame, what is your meaning?’ - -‘Ah, ha! I tell no one that secret, but you shall discover my meaning -some day. Now, go back to what we were saying about Gabrielle. What -is to be done with her?’ - -‘When you go to Paris?’ - -‘Yes, I cannot protect her there. I am not safe there myself. Here I -can do what I like, but not there.’ - -‘I cannot tell you, madame, but I will make enquiries, and find out -where she may be taken in and screened against pursuit.’ - -‘You promise me that,’ she said. - -‘Yes, madame, I will do my best. If you will communicate with me -again in a day or two, I shall be more in a position to satisfy you.’ - -‘Then I may trust in you as Gabrielle’s protector when I am unable -myself to execute that office?’ - -‘Certainly. I will be her protector.’ - -Madame Plomb rose from her seat, and departed. - -As she approached the château, she heard the furious barking of the -two dogs, and on entering the gates she saw the cause. M. Berthier -had wheeled an easy chair into the yard, and was seated in it at a -safe distance from the hounds, armed with a long-lashed carriage -whip, which he whirled above his head, and brought down now on Poulet -and then on Pigeon, driving the beasts frantic with pain and rage. -He had thrown a large piece of raw meat just within their reach, and -he kept them from it by skilful strokes across the nose and paws. -The dogs were ravenous, and they flew upon the piece of flesh, only -to recoil with howls of pain. Pigeon had bounded to the top of his -kennel, and was dancing with torture, having received a cutting -stroke across his fore paws; then, seeing Poulet making towards the -meat, and fearful lest he should be robbed of his share, he leaped -down from his perch and flew after his brother, only to be nearly -overthrown by Poulet, as he started back before a sweep of the lash. - -Madame Berthier looked scornfully towards her husband. - -‘Ah, ha! my leaden lady!’ cried he, as she drew near; ‘you have been -taking a walk; there is nothing to be compared with fresh air and -exercise for heightening and refining the complexion. You are right, -madame, to wear a veil; the sun freckles.’ - -He had recovered all that insolence which seemed to have left him on -the day following her repulse of him. - -‘Sacré! you rascal! will you touch the meat? No, not yet,’ and the -whip caught Poulet across the face. - -The blow was answered with a furious howl. - -‘Are you going, Madame Plomb? No, stand here and watch my sport. I do -not like to have my sport interfered with, mind that. What I like to -do, that I will do. Sacré! who will dare to stand between me and my -game?’ - -‘I will,’ said his wife, walking towards the dogs. - -‘No, you shall not; you shall leave that meat alone.’ - -She stooped, picked up the piece of raw flesh, and threw it towards -the dogs. - -‘You are a bold woman to go so near the infuriated hounds,’ said -Berthier, cracking his whip in the air; ‘I daren’t do it.’ - -‘No, you are a bully; and bullies are always cowards.’ - -‘Madame! you are uncivil. You bark like Pigeon and Poulet.’ - -‘I shall bite, too.’ - -‘Do you know what we do with barking, biting, snarling, angry, -ungovernable beasts, eh? with those who show their teeth to their -masters, who unsheath their claws to their lords? Do you know what we -do with them, eh?’ - -He wiped his red eyes with the corner of his handkerchief, leaned -back in his chair, and laughed. ‘Shall I tell you what we do with -dangerous animals, or with those who stand between us and our object? -We chain them up.’ He laughed again. - -Madame gazed contemptuously at his fat quivering cheeks. - -‘We lock them up, we chain them up,’ continued he; ‘we make them so -fast that they may bark as much as they like, but bite they cannot, -for those whom they would bite keep out of their reach.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -Madame Berthier had left Gabrielle in her yellow room, with strict -directions to attend to the cat, and to take him a little stroll -in the garden. The lady had descended to the courtyard with full -intentions of visiting the church of Nôtre Dame, but the information -given her by Adolphe had altered her intention. The walk to Bernay -and back took longer than she had intended. - -Shortly after madame had left the house, Gabrielle, carrying the dyed -cat in her arms, descended the stairs and entered the garden. Her -confinement to the house had removed the dark stain of the sun from -her skin, which was now of a wheaten hue, delicate, and lighting up -with every emotion that sent a flush to her cheek. The anxiety and -terror which had overcome her, had left their traces on her face; the -old child-like simplicity and joyousness were gone, and their place -was occupied by an expression of timidity scarcely less engaging. She -wore one of her own peasant dresses, so becoming to a peasant girl, -and a pure white Normandy cap. - -‘Poor puss!’ she said, caressing the yellow cat as she entered the -garden; ‘do you love your mistress? I am sure you do, for already I -love her, though I have not known her half so long as you have. How -can that dreadful man treat her with so much cruelty? If he only knew -how good she was----’ - -‘You surely do not allude to me when you use the expression “dreadful -man.” No, I am convinced you could not have so named one who lives -only to devote himself to you, and gratify your every whim.’ - -Berthier stood before her, having stepped from an arbour that had -concealed him. - -Gabrielle recoiled in speechless terror. - -‘Did I hear you say that you loved Madame Plomb?’ he asked, advancing -towards her. She shrank away. - -‘Did I hear you express affection for that leaden woman, with her -blue complexion, her bird-like profile, her fierce black eyes, and -her mad fancies?’ - -‘Monsieur,’ answered the girl, trembling violently, ‘I do love her; -she has been kind to me.’ - -‘Then,’ said the fat man, throwing up one hand and laying the other -on his breast, ‘I love her too.’ - -He looked at her from head to foot, feasting his eyes on her beauty -and innocence. She attempted to look up, but before that bold glance -her eyes fluttered to one side and then the other. - -‘Do not run away, I will not touch you,’ he said, as she made a -movement to escape; ‘I want merely to have a word with you in -confidence. If you will not listen to me here, I will speak to you -in the house. Whither can you go to escape me? The house is mine. No -door is locked or bolted which I cannot open.’ - -‘Monsieur, pray do not speak to me!’ exclaimed Gabrielle, joining her -trembling hands as in prayer. - -‘I must speak to you, little woman,’ said Berthier, ‘for I have got a -charming suggestion, strictly correct, you may be sure, which I want -to make to you.’ - -‘Let me go home!’ she cried, covering her face with her hands. - -‘Home!’ echoed Berthier. ‘Where is your home? Not the Isle of -Swallows. Your father is dead, you know that; and another farmer has -taken the house. How stupid of the père André to put himself out of -the world just when his daughter wanted a home!’ - -This brutal remark caused the girl’s tears to burst forth. - -‘Home!’ continued the Intendant, approaching her; ‘this is henceforth -your home. I offer you my wealth, my mansions, my servants, myself.’ -He put his hand on her shoulder. - -She sprang from the touch, as though it had stung her. - -‘Foolish maiden, not to accept such offers at once. You are in my -power; you have nowhere to flee to; you have no relations to take -your part against me. If I turn you out of my doors, do you know -whither to go? No; you have no place to go to.’ - -‘I have friends,’ she sobbed. - -‘Name them.’ - -‘I am sure Pauline Lebertre would give me shelter.’ - -‘Who is Pauline Lebertre, may I ask?’ - -‘The curé’s sister.’ - -‘At La Couture?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -M. Berthier clapped his fleshy hands together and laughed. - -‘You are vastly mistaken,’ he said, ‘if you think that every house -is open to you now. I lament to say it, but your presence in this -château is likely somewhat to affect your credit with some good -people. It is with unfeigned regret that I assure you that this -charming mansion of mine is regarded with suspicion. It is even -asserted that you left your father and home for the purpose of making -your fortune here; that the idea so weighed on the good Matthias, -that he committed suicide, and that therefore you are his murderer.’ - -Gabrielle leaned against a tree, with her face in her hands; she -could not speak; shame, anguish, and disgust overwhelmed her. - -‘Do you think that the sister of a curé would invite you to her -house?’ - -‘Monsieur, monsieur!’ she cried; ‘leave me, I pray.’ - -‘Certainly, I will leave you to digest what I have told you,’ he -said, with great composure; ‘but not just yet; I must place certain -alternatives before you, and, if you are a discreet girl, you will -make the choice I desire. If you leave my hospitable roof, you go -forth branded as your father’s murderer, with an ugly name that will -ever cling to you. You will go forth to be pointed at and scorned, -and to be shut out of the society of your friends. On the other hand, -if you remain here, you may remain on honourable terms. There is a -place, not the grave, which swallows up wives; and the husband is -left not only to all intents and purposes a widower, but in the eye -of the law wifeless, so that he may marry again. I am sorry to say -it, but that place is about to swallow up Madame Plomb. I offer you -her place. She will be dead,--dead to all the world, and dead by law. -You may occupy the place of honour at my table, sit beside me in my -carriage, dress as suits your taste, lavish money as you list. You -shall be my second wife, and the curé’s daughter will come bowing -down to you and asking for subscriptions for the church and the poor, -and you can give more than all the rest of the people in the village, -and you can set up a magnificent tomb to your father, and have a -thousand masses said for his soul.’ - -‘Madame!’ cried the girl, ‘oh, dear madame, come to my rescue!’ - -‘You trust to the leaden wife to protect you, do you?’ asked -Berthier, laughing. ‘The leaden woman shall not be at hand to stand -between us much longer. I have managed that she shall disappear.’ - -Gabrielle looked fixedly at him, and her heart stood still. - -‘Yes, I promise you that,’ said Berthier; ‘I will have no more knives -drawn upon me, and presented at my throat. I have taken precautions -against a recurrence of such a proceeding. Let me tell you, dearest, -that she shall not be much longer in this house. In a very few hours -I hope to see her removed to a place of security. Should you like to -know whither?‘--he sidled up to her, put his lips to her ear, and -whispered a name. ‘Now I leave you,’ he said, drawing back; ‘I leave -you to make your choice. Think what it would be to be called Madame -Berthier de Sauvigny, and to reign over the peasants of Malouve!’ - -With a snap of his fingers he withdrew. It was some time before -Gabrielle had sufficiently recovered to escape into the house. She -fled to Madame Berthier’s room and threw herself into a chair; then, -fearing lest her pursuer should intrude himself upon her again, she -went to the door to lock or bolt it, but found that the bolt had been -removed, and there was no key in the lock. Berthier had spoken the -truth when he said that no place in the house was secure from his -entrance. She reseated herself, and awaited Madame Berthier’s return. - -That lady arrived in good spirits. She had secured a protector for -Gabrielle, and she had spoiled her husband’s sport with the dogs. - -‘Well, my precious ones!’ exclaimed she, as she entered. ‘Gabriel! -come to my shoulder. Where is my angel? I do not see him. Gabrielle, -tell me where is the cat, or I perish.’ - -‘Madame,’ answered the girl, who had started to her feet on the -entrance of the lady, ‘I do not know; I left him in the garden.’ - -‘Have you cherished him, and consoled him for my absence?’ - -‘Madame, I have done what I could.’ - -‘That is right. Oh! it is delightful, now I can leave the house -without anxiety. Hitherto I have been torn with fears lest some -mischief should befall my angel, whenever I have been absent from -home; but now I leave him to you in all confidence. But--what is the -matter with you? you have been crying.’ - -‘Madame! you have been so good to me, but I cannot remain in this -house. I cannot, indeed.’ - -‘My dear child, I know that you cannot, and I have this afternoon -been to find you a protector, and I have secured you one.’ - -‘Who, madame?’ - -‘The curé of Bernay.’ - -‘Madame,’ faltered the girl, ‘does he know that I am here?’ - -‘Yes, child.’ - -‘And he will yet receive me?’ - -‘I do not know that he will himself receive you, but he has promised -to find you a refuge.’ - -‘Madame, tell me, does he think evil of me?’ - -‘Of you? No; why should he?’ - -‘Because, madame, I am in this house.’ - -‘Ah, to be sure; that is not to the credit of any young woman; but I -have assured him that I stood between you and harm.’ - -Gabrielle flung herself before Madame Berthier, to clasp her feet; -the lady caught her and held her to her heart. - -‘You are too good to me,’ the girl sobbed. ‘Oh, madame, how can I -ever repay you?’ - -‘You will pray for me.’ - -‘Ever, ever!’ fervently ejaculated Gabrielle. - -‘And for Gabriel, my cat.’ - -‘Madame,’ said the girl, clinging to the unfortunate lady, ‘madame, -how shall I say it?--but you are yourself in danger.’ - -‘I am always in danger,’ said the poor woman. ‘Am not I married to -a beast? But tell me, now, what has made you cry whilst I have been -out? The beast has not been near you to insult you. If he has,’--she -gnashed her teeth; all the softness which had stolen over her strange -countenance altering suddenly to an expression of hardness,--‘if -he has, I shall draw my knife upon him again. And I should be sorry -to do that, because I do not want to make him bleed; I have other -designs in my head. Ah! they are secrets: we shall see! perhaps -some day we shall be more alike than we are now. Well--’ she seated -herself and removed her bonnet and veil--‘well, and how came you to -part company with the yellow cat?’ - -‘Madame! you are in danger.’ - -‘I have told you that I am in danger every day. In danger of what? -Of being grossly insulted; of being called Madame Plomb; of having -my liberty taken from me. I have been locked up in my chamber before -now, and the beast threatened me with something of the kind just now, -as I passed him in the yard, teasing the dogs. That man is hated by -all. The people of Paris hate him; his servants hate him; his dogs -hate him; you hate him; and so do I,--I hate him. I am all hate.’ - -‘Madame, let me tell you what he said to me.’ - -‘I do not care to hear,--I can guess; he spoke of me and called me -Madame Plomb,’ she stamped, as she mentioned the name. ‘He made his -jokes about me. He always makes his jokes about me to the servants, -to his guests, to any one--and, if I am listening and looking on, all -the better.’ - -‘Dear, dear madame, let me speak.’ - -‘You do not know, however, how my father treats me. That is worst of -all. But where is Gabriel? Where is the yellow angel? Come, we will -make his cradle.’ - -In a moment she had the threads about her fingers. - -The girl saw that her only chance of being attended to was to wait -her opportunity. - -‘This is the cat’s net,’ said Madame Berthier. ‘This is his basket.’ -She pursued the changes with her usual interest, till it came to -that of her own invention. As Gabrielle put up her fingers for the -construction of the castle, she said, nervously: - -‘Madame, what do you call this tower or prison?’ - -‘I call it the cat’s castle.’ - -‘But you have another name for it. You told me about a dreadful -prison in Paris----’ - -‘Ah! the Bastille.’ - -‘Yes, madame. Who are shut up in that place?’ - -‘Political offenders, and mad people, and, indeed, all sorts of folk.’ - -‘How are they put in there?’ - -‘Why, those who have committed political offences----’ - -‘No, dearest madame, the others.’ - -‘What! the mad people?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘Their friends get an order from the king, and then they are -incarcerated.’ - -‘Are all mad people in Paris put there?’ - -‘Oh dear no! they are sent to Bicêtre. But only those of very great -families, or those whom it is not wise or prudent for their relatives -to have sent to the general asylum, are imprisoned there.’ - -‘Madame, have you ever feared?’ - -‘Feared what, Gabrielle?’ - -‘Feared lest----’ the girl hesitated and shook like an aspen. - -‘I have often been much afraid of an accident befalling my darling -Gabriel. Oh! child, the anguish and terror of one night when the dear -cat was absent. He had not been in all day, and night drew on and no -Gabriel came, so I sat up at the window and watched, and I cried ever -and anon, but he did not answer.’ - -‘Madame,’ interrupted the girl, clasping the poor lady’s hands, and -utterly ruining the tower of threads; ‘dear, dear Madame Berthier, -have you never feared the Bastille for yourself?’ - -Those words struck the lady as though with an electric shock. She -started back and gazed with distended horror-lighted eyes and rigid -countenance at Gabrielle; her hands fell paralysed at her side; her -mouth moved as though she would speak, but not a word escaped her -lips. - -At that moment the dogs began to bark furiously in the yard, and -continued for some minutes. - -Madame Berthier slowly recovered such self-possession as she ever had. - -‘Did he mean that?’ she asked; ‘he said that those who were dangerous -were chained up. Gabrielle, tell me, did he threaten _that_ to me?’ - -‘Madame, he said as much.’ - -The unhappy woman was silent again. She seemed cowed at the very -idea, her feet worked nervously on the floor, and her fingers -twitched; every line of her face bore the impress of abject fear. - -‘Oh, Gabrielle! do not desert me!’ she entreated piteously. ‘I have -no friends. My husband is against me, my father is indifferent. I -fling myself on you. Do not desert me--Gabrielle, Gabrielle!’ the cry -of pain pierced the girl to the heart. - -‘My dearest madame,’ said she; ‘I will follow you.’ - -‘Gabrielle, did you hear aright? Was it not the cat they were going -to take to his castle? Hark!’ - -There was a sound, a tramp of feet in the corridor. - -‘Who are these, who are coming?’ shrieked the poor woman. - -The girl was too frightened to move from her place. She stood -trembling, and the tread drew nearer. - -‘Fly to the door, shut it, lock it!’ cried Madame Berthier, throwing -herself from her chair on the ground and tearing her grey hair with -her discoloured hands. - -Gabrielle stood irresolute but one moment, then she fell on her knees -beside her mistress, and raised her head and kissed her, as the tears -flowed from her eyes over the frightened deathly countenance of the -unfortunate woman, whose trembling was so violent and convulsive that -the floor vibrated under her. - -‘Gabrielle!’ gasped the poor lady, suddenly becoming calmer; ‘if I -be taken, remember M. Lindet is your protector. Do not remain here.’ -Then her mind rambled off to the horror which oppressed her. - -The door was thrown open, and Berthier entered with his eyes -twinkling, and his cheeks wagging with laughter. Behind him were some -soldiers. - -‘In the king’s name!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ha! get up!’ He stood instantly -before his wife, rubbing his hands. His eye lighted on Gabrielle, and -he saluted her with a nod and leer. ‘Now, dear! what did I say?’ - -Madame Berthier hid her face in the girl’s bosom. All fierceness, all -her courage, every atom of power seemed to have disappeared before -the awful fear. - -‘I will raise her,’ said Berthier. - -‘No,’ exclaimed Gabrielle; ‘she is in my care.’ - -‘In your care!’ laughed Berthier; ‘much good your care will do her.’ - -The girl gently lifted the frightened woman to her feet, but she -could not stand without support. - -‘She is dangerous,’ said Berthier to the officers. ‘Secure her. She -attempted my life with a dagger. Take care, she may stab one of you.’ - -There seemed little danger of this from the quaking being before -them, nevertheless they secured her with manacles. - -Gabrielle clung to her. The soldiers thrust her aside. - -‘Let me accompany her! Oh, let me go with her!’ she pleaded; ‘I have -no home but with her!’ - -‘What!’ exclaimed Berthier, ‘no home! Why, this house is your home. -You have none other.’ - -Gabrielle was separated from madame. - -‘Where are you going to take me?’ asked the poor woman, faintly. - -‘To the Bastille,’ answered her husband promptly, stepping in front -of her and staring into her eyes dim with fear, ‘where you will be -secure, and knowing you to be there, I shall be safe.’ - -‘Let her come with me,’ she besought, turning her face towards -Gabrielle. - -‘By no manner of means,’ answered Berthier with a laugh; ‘I intend -to make her very comfortable here. Whilst you enjoy your cell, she -shall have your room.’ - -‘My cat!’ gasped the wretched wife. - -‘Would you have me catch it for you?’ he asked. ‘No. You must go -without. Soldiers! remove her.’ - -They obeyed. She offered no resistance. A carriage was in the yard, -ready to receive her. As the men drew her along the corridor and down -the stairs, her limbs refusing to support her, her eyes turned from -side to side in a strained, uneasy manner, and moans escaped her lips. - -Gabrielle, almost too stunned to think, stood and gazed after her, -but when she saw that the soldiers were about to thrust her into the -carriage, with her grey hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, -and with no cover for her face, she rallied, and flying back to the -room she had left, caught up the bonnet and veil Madame Berthier had -so lately taken off, and hastened after her to the court. She sprang -upon the step of the carriage, and with her own hands adjusted the -straggling hair, put on the bonnet, and drew the veil over the face -of her mistress. - -‘Gabrielle!’ murmured the poor woman, and the girl flung herself into -her arms. - -‘Come!’ said Berthier; ‘enough of this. Coachman, drive on.’ - -Reluctantly the mistress and the maiden parted. Gabrielle stood -looking after the carriage, as it rolled towards the gates amidst the -furious barking of the hounds. - -Just as it passed through the entrance and turned into the road, the -head and arms of Madame Berthier appeared at the coach window, the -latter extended, and her cry, shrill and full of agony, was echoed -back from the front of the chateau: - -‘Gabrielle! save me, save me!’ - -‘That,’ said Berthier, rubbing his eyes, ‘that is more than Gabrielle -or any one else can do, excepting myself or the king.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -Thomas Lindet stood at his window thinking. One by one the lights -died out in the town. A candle had been shining through the -curtain in Madame Leroux’s bedroom for an hour, and now that was -extinguished. The red glow of the forge at the corner had become -fainter. For long it had shot a scarlet glare over the pavement, and -had roared before the bellows. The clink on the anvil was hushed, the -shutters were closed, and only a feeble glimmer shone through their -chinks, and under the door. The watch had closed the tavern of the -‘Golden Cross.’ None traversed the square. Lindet saw a light still -in Madame Aubin’s windows. She had a child ill, and was sitting up -with it. There was a glimmer also from the window of M. François -Corbelin, and the strains of a violin issued from his room. There was -no moon now. The stars shone in the black vault above, and the priest -fixed his eyes upon them. - -Save for the violin, all was hushed; the frogs indeed trilled as -usual, but the curé was so accustomed to the sound that he did not -hear them, or rather did not know that his ear received their -clamorous notes. Then suddenly he heard the baying of some hounds, -distant, but approaching. - -A moment after, Lindet saw a figure dart across the market-place, -with extended arms, and rush to his door. Looking fixedly at the -form, he distinguished it to be that of a woman. She struck at his -door, and gasped, ‘Let me in! they are after me.’ - -‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ asked the curé from his window. - -‘Oh! quick, let me in,’ she cried; ‘the dogs! the dogs!’ - -‘Who are you?’ - -‘I am Gabrielle----’ she broke off with a scream, for instantly from -the street, out of which she had started, appeared the bloodhounds, -baying and tracking her. - -‘For God’s sake! or they will tear me!’ she cried. - -Lindet flung himself down the stairs, tore the door open, beat off -the dogs with a staff he snatched up, as the girl sprang in; then -slammed and barred the door upon the brutes. - -‘Have they hurt you?’ - -She could not answer; her breath was nearly gone. - -‘Stay there,’ he said; ‘I will light a candle.’ He groped his way -to the kitchen, felt for the tinder and steel, and struck a light. -Having kindled from it a little lamp, he returned to the girl. She -had sunk upon the ground beside the door, outside of which the -hounds leaped and barked, and at which they attempted to burrow. - -‘How came you here?’ asked the curé. He set down the lamp, and raised -her from the floor in his arms. - -‘I have escaped,’ she gasped. ‘I ran. They are after me.’ - -Voices were now heard without, calling off the dogs. - -‘Bah! she has taken refuge with her dear friend the curé. I thought -as much.’ The voice was that of Foulon. - -‘Sacré!’ exclaimed Berthier; ‘I wish we had discovered her flight a -little earlier. I wish the dogs had brought her down in the forest. -Sacré! I wish----’ - -‘My dear good Berthier,’ said Foulon, ‘what is the use of wishing -things to be otherwise than they are? always accept facts, and make -the most of them. Gustave! take the dogs away. They make a confounded -noise.’ - -‘Remain here,’ said Lindet, in an agitated voice; ‘I will go and -summon Madame Pin, the old woman whose house this is. She is as deaf -as a post.’ - -‘Do not go!’ pleaded Gabrielle, trembling; ‘perhaps they may get in. -Wait, wait, to defend me.’ - -Lindet stood and listened to the voices outside. The dogs were -collared and withdrawn. Foulon tapped at the door. - -‘Do not open,’ entreated Gabrielle. - -‘Well! Monsieur le Curé,’ said the old gentleman through the door; -‘sly priest! so the little rogue is with you? What will the bishop -say? So late at night!’ - -The noise had attracted the musician to his window. The mother of -the sick child had opened her casement, and was looking out. Madame -Leroux started out of the dose into which she had fallen, and -appeared at her garret window. - -‘What is the matter?’ asked the musician. - -‘Ah, M. Corbelin!’ exclaimed Foulon, in a loud voice; ‘what foxes -these curés are! We have just seen one admit a young and pretty -girl to his house. Hark! it is striking midnight. No wonder all the -dogs in the town have been giving them a charivari.’ Then, in a -low tone to Berthier, he said: ‘My good boy! I have served out our -curé now, for having repeated in the pulpit certain observations I -made in private. Those she-dragons yonder’--he pointed up at the -windows--‘will have ruined Thomas Lindet for ever. Come, let us go -home.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -It was evident that the States-general must be convoked. All attempts -on the part of the Court at evasion provoked so loud and so indignant -a burst of feeling from every quarter of France, that Louis XVI -finally resolved on conquering his repugnance and yielding to popular -pressure. - -When Brienne resigned the ministry, he engaged Louis to summon -Necker, a banker of Geneva. Necker decided the king to convoke -the States-general, and to determine the mode of convocation, the -notables were summoned. Necker was now prime minister of France. He -was adored by the people, who believed him to be liberal-minded and -honest; and on his influence the Court relied to keep in check and -subordination the third estate, and use its weight as a counterpoise -to that of the nobility and clergy, who had acted so decided a -part in resisting the crown in the equal distribution of taxation. -As the object desired by the Court was to make the two privileged -classes bear their share in the burden, and as the States-general -consisted of three houses, of which two were composed of those -enjoying immunities, it was evident that they would unite against -the wishes of the king and Necker, and the Tiers État. To avoid this, -Necker proposed that the number of those representing the third -estate should equal the number of the noble and clerical delegates -conjointly. The assembly of notables, perceiving the design of the -prime minister, rejected the double representation demanded in -favour of the communes, and the Parliament of Paris declared that -the States-general must be composed in the same manner as in 1614, -when they last met. An assembly of peers, held on the 20th November, -expressed the same sentiment, and the notables were dismissed. -The courtiers were so accustomed to consider their will the rule -of government, that the opinion of the notables, the parliament, -and the peers would have prevailed, had not the necessity of -filling the deficit in the finances inclined the ministry towards -the Tiers État. Necker procured a decree of council deciding the -double representation, on the 27th December; as to the question of -deliberations by orders or by the three houses united, that was -remitted to the decision of the States-general, convoked for the end -of April, 1789. - -Although the hopes of the king rested on the third estate, he feared -it. He desired that it should vote taxes; he resolved that it should -do nothing more. Some persons advised him to assemble the States at -Blois, at Orléans, or at Bourges, and to avoid Paris, which would -exert an incalculable influence over the third house. Louis XVI, -however, decided that the assembly should take place at Versailles, -where the splendour of the Court was calculated to overawe the -representatives of the people, and render them complaisant tools of -the royal will. - -When, in the autumn of 1788, it became apparent to the whole of -France that a crisis would arrive in the following spring, and that -there would be a struggle between the privileged and the unprivileged -classes, which would end either in the country asserting its rights -and liberties, or in its further and final subjugation, it became -important to those whose representatives occupied the upper houses, -that they should present a compact front to the common enemy--Justice. - -The nobility were almost unanimous; but it became daily more apparent -that the second privileged class was by no means so. The Church was -divided into two classes, the upper and the lower clergy, and the -scission between them was almost as sharp as that between the noble -and the roturier. The eyes of the Court were turned on the Church, -which held the scales between the parties, anxious to know whether -its bias would be cast on the side of the third, or of the higher -estate. The bishops and high clergy were stirred into activity, and -became political agents; they exerted their influence on all the -clergy within their sway, to promote the election of candidates -favourable to the _ancien régime_. - -The opportunity of acting a part as a political agitator inspired -the Bishop of Évreux, when recovered from his attack of apoplexy, -to make the circuit of his diocese, and by flattery and promises -extended to some, by pressure brought to bear on others, to secure -the election of candidates recommended by himself as partizans of -privilege and abuse. Indeed, his ambition was to be himself elected. -His negotiations had not been as successful as he had anticipated; he -discovered that his clergy were by no means so enthusiastic in their -devotion to the existing state of affairs as were those who largely -profited by them. Some listened to him and respectfully declined to -promise their votes to him or his candidate, others would consider -his lordship’s recommendation, others again would give no answer -one way or another. The bishop was personally unpopular; he had a -domineering manner which offended his clergy, and a tenacity to his -dignity, which rendered him disliked. If a living in his gift were -vacant, he kept it open for six months, and then appointed to it -a priest of another diocese; if he were written to on business by -one of his clergy, he either gave him no answer, or did not reply -for months. Towards the close of his circuit, he arrived at Bernay, -not in the best humour at his ill success, and accepted Berthier’s -invitation to stay at Château Malouve. Thither Lindet was summoned. - -Rumours had come to the bishop’s ears that the liberal party -among his clergy, in casting about for a suitable delegate at the -approaching convocation, had mentioned the name of the curé of S. -Cross. No name could possibly have been suggested more calculated -to irritate monseigneur; and the bishop had arrived at Bernay with -a settled determination to crush Lindet. The means were simple: he -had but to sign his name and Lindet was cast adrift; but he must -have some excuse for inhibiting him; and to provide him with this, -Ponce, the _officiel_, was summoned to Bernay. The excuse was, -however, ready, and awaiting his arrival,--an excuse a great deal -more plausible than he had ventured to expect. The bishop had not -been an hour in the château before Foulon had made him acquainted -with ‘a scandal which had compromised Religion and the Church in that -neighbourhood,’ and had told him how that Lindet had received a young -woman into his house at midnight, and had not dismissed her till next -morning, when he had sent her to his brother, the lawyer, to be his -servant. - -Now it happened that the incident had caused no scandal in Bernay, as -Foulon had predicted, for the musician had from his window witnessed -what had taken place; Berthier’s character was well known in Bernay, -and the disappearance of Gabrielle had been widely commented upon. -A few malicious persons, perhaps, alluded to the priest’s part in -recovering the girl, as indicating a very unaccountable interest in -her, but the circumstance had roused a deep indignation against -the Intendant in the breasts of the Bernay people, which was not -allayed when it transpired through Lindet, that Madame Berthier, the -protectress of the girl, had been carried off to Paris by soldiers, -to be incarcerated in the Bastille. - -When Thomas Lindet reached Château Malouve, he was shown into the -yellow room, once occupied by the afflicted lady, and which Berthier -had surrendered to the prelate as his office during his stay. - -Lindet found the bishop seated near the window, at the head of a -long table, beside which sat M. Ponce, acting as his secretary. -Monseigneur de Narbonne bowed stiffly, without rising from his chair, -or removing his biretta; his red face flushed purple as the priest -entered, but gradually resumed its usual ruddy hue. - -‘I have received a paper, which M. Ponce will do us the favour of -reading,’ said the bishop in a pompous tone, without raising his eyes -from the table, or for a moment looking the curé full in the face--‘a -paper which contains grave charges of a moral nature against you, -Robert Thomas Lindet--your name is correctly stated, is it not?’ - -‘Yes, my Lord.’ - -‘But your brother, the lawyer, is also Robert.’ - -‘Monseigneur, his name in full is Jean Baptiste Robert.’ - -‘Then you are both Robert?’ - -‘Both, my Lord; but I have always been called by my second name.’ - -‘M. Ponce, will you kindly----’ the bishop bent slightly towards his -officer. - -That gentleman rose, and taking up a paper, read in a voice devoid of -expression:-- - -‘We, the undersigned, did, on the night of September 3, 1788, see a -young girl, Gabrielle André, secretly enter the parsonage of Robert -Thomas Lindet, curé of S. Cross, at Bernay, between the hours of -eleven and twelve at night, the said Robert Thomas Lindet himself -admitting her, and closing and locking the door after her. And we, -the undersigned, have ascertained that the said girl, Gabrielle -André, did remain in the house of the priest that night till the hour -of seven in the morning.’ - -This document was signed by Foulon, Berthier, Gustave, and Adolphe. - -The bishop closed his fingers over his breast, leaned back in -his chair, thrust his feet out under the table, settled his neck -comfortably in his cravat, and looked at Lindet. - -The priest grew pale, not with fear, but with indignation. - -‘Have you anything to say upon this?’ asked the prelate, blandly. -Lindet flashed a glance at him, and the bishop’s eyes fell instantly. - -‘Is this true?’ again asked the bishop, after a pause. - -‘Perfectly,’ answered the priest in a hard voice. - -‘I ask you whether, or not, you have thereby brought scandal on the -Church?’ - -‘I do not care.’ - -‘M. Lindet, please to remember in whose presence you stand.’ - -‘I am not likely to forget, monseigneur.’ - -‘Then answer in a becoming way.’ - -‘My Lord! I ask to see my accusers.’ - -‘This is no public trial.’ - -‘I shall not answer till they are brought here face to face with me.’ - -‘I am your bishop. I insist on your answering me what I ask. You are -contumacious, sir. You forget where you are.’ - -‘That also,’ said Lindet, ‘I do not forget. I remember but too -distinctly that I am in the house of a man notorious for his crimes, -and whose hospitality you accept. I ask you, my Lord, whether or not -you have thereby brought scandal on the Church.’ - -The bishop half started out of his chair. - -‘This insolence is simply intolerable. To my face----’ - -‘Better than behind your back. I tell you--the head of the Church in -this diocese, the guardian of religion and morality--that you are -outraging decency by lodging in this polluted den.’ - -‘Leave my presence this instant,’ said the bishop. ‘Ponce! turn him -out.’ - -‘No,’ said Lindet, taking a chair, and leaning his hands on the back -to steady himself, for his limbs trembled with excitement; ‘no, -monseigneur; a charge has been brought against me, a slur has been -cast on my character, and I ask to meet my accusers face to face.’ - -‘Pardon me!’ The door opened, and Foulon stepped in, bearing some -peaches on a leaf. ‘My dear Lord, I must positively offer you this -fruit, the very last on the tree. I thought all were gone, but these -are so luscious. Pray accept them.’ - -Lindet faced him instantly, with abruptness. - -‘Monsieur Foulon, I am glad you are here.’ - -‘Ah, ha! my dear curé. Sly fellow! Do you remember the pretty little -peasantess? Well, I allow she was pretty, bewitching enough to have -captivated a saint, therefore quite excusable in a curé to have been -ensnared.’ - -‘Monsieur Foulon!’ said the prelate with dignity, ruffling up, and -throwing a tone of reprimand into his voice. - -‘I beg your lordship’s pardon a thousand times, but he is too sly. He -amuses me infinitely.’ - -Thomas Lindet had much difficulty in controlling his naturally quick -temper. He gripped the back of the chair with nervous force, and his -lips whitened and trembled. - -‘I know you will allow me,’ said Foulon, withdrawing the chair; and -bringing it to the table, he seated himself upon it. - -Lindet, standing without support, shook like a leaf in the wind. He -folded his arms on his breast, and pressed them tightly against it, -to keep down the bounding heart. - -‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘this person has charged me with having -received a poor girl into my house.’ - -‘I saw her slip in, and I heard you bolt the door after her,’ said -Foulon; ‘you did not suppose that anyone would be about at midnight, -eh?’ - -‘Was she a relation?’ asked the bishop. - -‘She was not, my Lord,’ answered the curé. - -‘A relative of your housekeeper?’ - -‘No.’ - -‘Who was she?’ - -‘She was a poor orphan girl, whom Madame Berthier, that person’s -daughter, had entrusted to my charge, to protect her from M. -Berthier. The child was in danger here----’ - -‘Excuse me,’ said Foulon in a grave tone, addressing himself to the -bishop, ‘is this curé to bring charges of such a nature as this -against my son-in-law, in his own house?’ - -‘You are right,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne; ‘I insist on you, -M. Lindet, exculpating yourself without slandering others.’ - -‘M. Foulon,’ said the priest, turning upon the old gentleman, then -engrossed in snuffing; ‘you know that what I say is true. You know -that the child was decoyed into this house by your son-in-law; you -know that your own daughter stood between her and her would-be -destroyer.’ - -‘He is mad,’ said Foulon, calmly. ‘Dear, dear me!’ - -Lindet could endure no more; his blood boiled up, and the suppressed -passion blazed into action. He sprang upon the imperturbable old man, -and caught him by the shoulders, and forced him round in his chair to -face him. - -‘Take some snuff,’ said Foulon, extending his box. - -‘Deny what I have said, if you dare!’ - -‘Certainly not; I will deny nothing. Of course the girl was brought -here; of course my Imogène stood between her and ruin; of course -she besought you to stand protector to the child;--there, does that -satisfy you? I grant all, you see, now be calm. Always say “yes, yes” -to a maniac; it is safest,’ he added, aside to the bishop. - -‘I think,’ said Monseigneur de Narbonne, ‘that I have heard quite -enough of this,--enough to satisfy me that M. Lindet is not a fit -person to minister in my diocese. I will trouble you,’ he added, -turning to M. Ponce, ‘to give me that paper you have been so -diligently and kindly drawing up for me. I must inform you,’ he said, -turning his face towards Lindet, ‘that I withdraw your licence, and -inhibit you from performing any ecclesiastical function within my -jurisdiction till further notice.’ - -He took the paper from his secretary, and in a bold hand signed -it--‘F. EBRO.’ - -‘You condemn and punish me, you destroy my character, and ruin me, -without investigating the charge laid against me,’ said the priest. - -‘You have acknowledged that the charge is substantially correct.’ - -‘I have not acknowledged it, nor can you prove that my moral -character is thereby affected.’ - -‘I am quite satisfied that you are greatly to blame,’ said the -bishop. ‘I will not hold a public investigation, because it would -only increase the scandal, and I desire to spare you and the Church -that shame. I am satisfied that you are to blame; that is enough.’ - -‘I demand a thorough investigation,’ said the curé, with great -firmness. - -‘You may demand one,’ answered the bishop, ‘but you shall not get -one.’ - -‘What!’ exclaimed Lindet; ‘I am to be ruined, and to be deprived of -the means of clearing myself!’ - -‘_I_ am satisfied,’ said the bishop, drawing himself up. - -‘But I am not,’ retorted the priest. - -The bishop bowed stiffly, and then turning to M. Ponce, said: ‘I -think we will proceed with other business. Good morning, M. Lindet. -Here is your inhibition.’ - -The curé stood silent for a moment, looking first at the secretary, -then at Foulon, who was engaged in pouring snuff into his palm; then -at the bishop, who had taken up one of the peaches, and with a silver -pocket-knife was pealing it. - -‘My lord bishop!’ said Lindet, ‘hear what I say. We, the priests of -the Church of France, have groaned under an intolerable oppression: -we have been subject, without redress, to the whims and caprices of -the bishop; neither justice nor liberty has been accorded us. I shall -resist this treatment. I shall not submit to be crushed without a -struggle. I appeal to the law.’ - -‘You have no appeal,’ said the prelate, coldly; ‘you are a mere -curate,--a stipendiary curate, and not an incumbent; the incumbent is -under the protection of the law, the curate is removable at the will -of the bishop.’ - -Lindet paused again. - -‘These peaches are delicious,’ said the bishop to Foulon. - -‘Then,’ said the curé, ‘I appeal to the country against -ecclesiastical tyranny. You spiritual lords, with your cringing -subserviency to the crown, with your utter worldliness, with your -obstructiveness to all religious movement in your dioceses, with -your tenacious adherence to abuses, and with your arbitrary despotic -treatment of your clergy, have taught us to hate the name of -Establishment; to cry to God and the people to destroy a monstrous, -odious sham, and restore to the Church its primitive independence. I -wait the assembly of the States-general, at which the clergy shall -have a voice; and then, my Lord, then I shall speak, and you _shall_ -hear me.’ - -He turned abruptly on his heel, and left the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -By an order dated January 24th, 1789, the king required that the -desires and reclamations of all his subjects should be transmitted to -him. Every parish was to draw up a statement of its grievances and -its wishes, which was to be handed into the assembly of the secondary -bailiwick, by it to be fused into one which was forwarded to the -grand bailiwick. The secondary bailiwicks of Beaumont-le-Royer, -Breteuil, Conches, Ezy-Nonancourt, Orbec, and Bernay, belonged to the -grand bailiwick of Évreux. The nobility and the clergy drew up their -papers separately. - -Another operation, not less important than the composition of these -_cahiers_, was to be simultaneously accomplished. This was the -election of delegates. - -According to the edict of the 24th January, the ancient distinction -of electors and deputies into three orders, the clergy, the nobility, -and the third estate, was maintained. These orders had a common -electoral circumscription, the grand bailiwick. The mode of election -in the two first orders was made the same, but it was different in -the third. - -The nomination of deputies for the clergy was to be made directly -by the bishops, abbés, canons, and other beneficed clergy in the -grand bailiwick. The curés, who subsisted on the _portion congrue_, -in another word, nearly all the clergy in country parishes, could -only vote in person if their parish were within two leagues of the -town in which was held the assembly, unless they had a curate to -take their place during their absence, and provide for the religious -requirements of the people. - -The election was equally direct for the deputies of the nobility. The -nobles possessing fiefs within the jurisdiction of the grand bailiff, -might appear by representatives, but all others were required to -appear in person. - -The third estate, on the contrary, in naming its representatives, -had to traverse three stages. Eight days at latest after having -received the notification, the inhabitants composing the tiers état -in the towns and country parishes, above the age of twenty-five, -were invited to unite in their usual place of assembly, before the -justice, or, in his default, before their syndic, for the purpose -of naming a number of delegates, the number being proportioned to -the population--two for two hundred fires and under, three for more -than two hundred, four for three hundred and over, and so on, in -progression. These delegates were required to betake themselves -to the seat of the secondary bailiwick of their arrondissement, -and there elect one quarter of their number. Those who had -passed this ordeal were next bound to transport themselves to the -principal bailiwick, and there, united with the deputies of that -particular arrondissement of the bailiwick, and with the delegates -of the town corporations, to form, under the presidence of the -lieutenant-general, a college to which was remitted the final -election of deputies. - -Such organization had this advantage,--it gave to the elections, at -a period when the relations of men with each other were much more -limited than they are at present, guarantees of sincerity which -they could not have had by direct universal suffrage. At each stage -the electors knew those who solicited their votes. A communication -was established through an uninterrupted chain of confidential -trusts, from the most humble member of the primary assemblies to the -delegates sent to Versailles from the grand colleges. - -On Monday, the 16th March, 1789, seven hundred and fifty -ecclesiastics, four hundred and thirty nobles, and three hundred -deputies of the third estate, assembled in Évreux for the final -election of delegates. - -At eight o’clock in the morning, the great bell of the Cathedral -boomed over the city to announce the opening of the first session. -From the summit of the central spire floated a white standard, -powdered with golden lilies. Ropes had been flung across the streets, -and from them were slung banners and flags bearing patriotic -inscriptions, ‘Vive le Roy!’ and ‘Vive les États Généraux.’ The -lilies of France fluttered from the windows of the barracks, the -hospital, and the Palais de Justice. - -The weather was cold. The winter had been of unprecedented severity, -and the snow was not gone. On the north side of the Cathedral it was -heaped between the buttresses in dirty patches. It glittered on the -leaden roof of the aisles. In the streets it was kneaded into black -mud; it lurked white and glaring in corners. Women had been up at -daybreak sweeping the slush from their door-steps, and making the -causeway before their houses look as clean as the season permitted. -The limes in the palace-garden had not disclosed a leaf; the buds -were only beginning to swell. - -It was a bright morning, almost the first really sunny springtide day -that year, and it was accepted by all as a glad omen of a bright era -opening on France with the elections of that day. - -A stream of people poured into the Cathedral through the west gate -and northern portal. The nave was reserved for the electors; the -people of Évreux filled the transepts and aisles. In the centre, -under Cardinal Balue’s tower, sat the nobility, many of them -dressed with studious splendour; the clergy occupied the choir, and -overflowed into the choir-aisles. The third estate sat west of the -central tower. This body of men presented marked contrasts in the -appearance of the members constituting it. Side by side with the -lawyer and surgeon, in good black cloth suits, black satin breeches, -and black silk stockings, sat the peasant delegate in coarse blue -cloth jacket, brown cap,--that cap which has been mounted on the -flag-staff of the Republic as the badge of liberty,--and shoes of -brown leather without heels, laced in front. Next to him a miller, -with a broad-brimmed hat, pinched to make it triangular, a velvet -waistcoat, and a coat set with large mother-of-pearl buttons, and -here and there also a curé in cassock turned green with age, and -black bands, edged with white; for some of the country villages sent -their priests to bear their complaints before the great assembly. - -Never had that noble church looked more impressive than on that March -morning. It is peculiarly narrow and lofty, and darkened by the -immense amount of painted glass which fills the windows,--glass of -the highest style of art, and great depth of colour, and thickness of -material. - -The bishop occupied his throne, and the Abbé de Cernay, dean of the -chapter, sang the mass of the Holy Ghost, in crimson vestments. - -Never, probably, has that grand church resounded with a finer choral -burst of song than when, at the conclusion of the mass, those seven -hundred and fifty priests, with the choir, and a number of the laity, -joined with the thunder of the organ, in the _Veni Creator_, sung to -the melody composed by good King Robert of France. - -The assembly was then constituted in the nave of the Cathedral. -The candles were extinguished, the fumes of incense faded away, -the clergy who had assisted in robes retired to lay aside their -vestments; seats and a table were placed in the nave at the -intersection of the transepts, and M. de Courcy de Montmorin, grand -bailiff of Évreux, took his seat as president. Beside him sat M. -Girardin, lieutenant-general of the bailiwick, and on his left M. -Gozan, procureur of the king. Adrian Buzot, chief secretary, sat pen -in hand at the table. On the right, filling the northern transept, -sat the clergy in a dense black body, with the bishops of Évreux -and Lisieux at their head in purple velvet chairs, studded with -gold-headed nails. The bishops wore their violet cassocks, lace -rochets, and capes, over which hung their episcopal crosses. In the -south transept were placed the nobles; and the third estate filled -the first three bays of the nave below the cross. - -As soon as the assembly was seated, and silence had been established, -the grand bailiff rose. He was a venerable man, of noble appearance, -with a fresh complexion, bright clear grey eyes, and a flowing -beard whiter than the late snow without. Raising his _chapel_ from -his blanched head as he began his speech, he replaced it again. -His voice, at first trembling and scarcely audible in that vast -building, gradually acquired tone, and was, towards the close of the -address, heard by every one in that great concourse. - -‘I give thanks to Heaven,’ said the old man, lifting his cap and -looking upwards, ‘that my life has been prolonged to this moment, -which opens before us, under the auspices of a beloved monarch, a -perspective of happiness, which we should hardly have ventured to -hope for. - -‘What an epoch in our annals, and, indeed, in those of humanity! -A sovereign consults his people on the means of assuring their -felicity, and assembles around him all those gifted with political -knowledge, to strengthen, or rather, to relay the bases of general -prosperity. - -‘Already, from one end of France to the other, those social ideas -which establish the rights of man and citizenship on true and solid -foundations have been disseminated. Government, far from attempting -to hinder the spread of these ideas, has allowed them a liberty in -accordance with its own generous purposes. - -‘It is for us, gentlemen, to show ourselves worthy of this noble -confidence reposed in us by our sovereign; it is for us to second the -views of a monarch who consecrates for ever his power, by showing -that he desires to endear it to his subjects. - -‘Experience has taught kings, as it has their subjects, that this -alone is the means of protecting and securing the royal prerogative -from the seductions of their ministers, who too frequently have -stamped the decrees of their selfish passions, their errors, and -their caprice, with the seal of a cherished and sacred authority. - -‘In order that we may arrive at that patriotic aim, dear to our -hearts, we have to endeavour to maintain concord and mutual -consideration between the three orders. Let us then from this moment -suppress our own petty, selfish interests, and subordinate them -to that dominant interest which should engross and elevate every -soul--the public weal. - -‘The clergy and the nobility will feel that the grandest of all -privileges is that of seeing the person and property of each under -national security, under the protection of public liberty, the only -protective power which is durable and infallible. - -‘The third estate will remember the fraternal joy with which all -orders have hailed the success of the third in obtaining its demands. -Let it not envy its elder brethren those honorific prerogatives, -rendered legitimate by their antiquity, and which, in every monarchy, -accompany those who have rendered service to their country, and whose -families are venerable through their age. - -‘Generous citizens of all orders, you whom patriotism animates, you -know all the abuses, and you will demand their reform at the ensuing -council of the nation. - -‘I do not agitate the question of the limit of the powers given to -our deputies. Public opinion has decided that; in order that they -may operate efficaciously, they must be, if not wholly unlimited, at -least very extensive. - -‘Such are the ideas, gentlemen, which I submit to your consideration. - -‘I assure you solemnly of the sincerity with which I offer up my -prayers for the public welfare. This hope--so sweet, yet so late in -coming to me, now far advanced in years, is the consolation of my -age, rejuvenated by the light of a new era which promises to dawn, -inspiring with hope us who stand on the brink of eternity, and which -will be the glory of our posterity. We shall lay the foundations, -another generation will rejoice in the superstructure. I thank God -that this feeble hand is called even to the preparatory work, and, -gentlemen, I conclude with the words of the Psalmist: “_Respice in -servos tuos, et in opera tua, et dirige filios eorum._”’ - -The venerable bailiff sat down; a thrill of emotion ran through the -assembly. In perfect silence, the roll-call and verification of -powers was begun. - -Amongst those names first proclaimed, in the order of the nobility, -was that of Louis-Stanislas Xavier, son of France, Duke of Anjou, -Alençon and Vendôme, Count of Perche, Maine and Senonches, Lord of -the bailiwicks of Orbec and Bernay. This prince, who was afterwards -Louis XVIII, was represented by the Marquis of Chambray. - -When the names of the clergy were read, Monseigneur de Narbonne -turned his ear towards Adrian Buzot. - -‘Robert Thomas Lindet, curate of S. Cross, at Bernay.’ - -‘I object,’ said the bishop, raising his hand. - -The secretary turned to him, and asked his reason. - -‘He is disqualified from appearing. He is under inhibition.’ - -Lindet sprang to his feet and worked his way to the front. ‘I -maintain,’ said he, ‘that an inhibition does not disqualify me from -appearing.’ - -The bishop leaned back in his velvet chair, crossed his feet, folded -his hands, and looked at the president. - -‘I have been inhibited without just cause, without having been given -a hearing, or allowed to clear myself of imputations maliciously cast -upon me.’ - -‘M. Lindet,’ said the grand bailiff, ‘we cannot enter upon the -question of the rights of the inhibition; we are solely concerned -with the question, whether that said inhibition incapacitates you -from voting.’ - -‘Quite so,’ the prelate interjected; then his cold grey eye rested -upon Lindet, who returned the look with one of defiance. - -M. de Courcy whispered with the Procureur du Roi. - -‘I think,’ said the bishop, in a formal tone, ‘that, whatever may -be the decision on the legality of your appearing, M. Lindet, there -can be but one opinion on its propriety. If you have not the decency -to remain in retirement, when lying under rebuke for scandalous and -immoral conduct, you will probably not be shamed by anything I may -say.’ - -‘My Lord,’ began the curé, ‘I protest--’ but he was interrupted by -the president, who, nodding to M. Gozan, the agent for the king, said: - -‘The objection raised by monseigneur appears to me not to invalidate -the claim of M. Lindet to have a voice in the redaction of the -cahiers and the election of the clerical delegates. The order of his -Majesty makes no provision for the case of a clerk under censure, -and silence on this point may fairly be construed in his favour. The -sentence upon him was purely spiritual, his status as stipendiary -curate remains unaltered. If he have a grievance, an opportunity is -graciously afforded him by his Majesty of declaring it. The ends -proposed would be frustrated, if all those who had grievances were -precluded by an exercise of authority on the part of their lords, -feudal or spiritual, from expressing them.’ - -The bishop coloured, bowed stiffly, and began to converse in a low -tone with M. de la Ferronays, bishop of Lisieux. - -The preliminary work of calling over the names of electors and -delegates occupied the session of that day. At four o’clock in the -afternoon it was dissolved, and the vast concourse began to flow out -at the Cathedral doors. - -But it was observed by the bishops, that the clergy showed no signs -of moving from their places. - -M. de Narbonne rose from his violet velvet chair, and with a smile at -his brother prelate, and then at the dean, suggested that they should -retire through the private entrance in the south transept to the -palace garden. - -He was about to cross before the table at which Adrian Buzot was -still engaged with his papers, when Thomas Lindet, standing on his -chair, addressed him. - -‘My Lord! you have this morning publicly attacked my character, by -asserting that my conduct has been “scandalous and immoral.” I demand -of you, before these my brother priests, to state the grounds upon -which you base that charge.’ - -The bishop, taking the arm of his suffragan, did not even turn to -look at the curé, but began to speak rapidly to his brother prelate. - -‘My Lord! are you going to answer me, or are you not?’ again asked -Lindet. ‘I appeal to you as a Christian--not as a bishop. You have -damaged my character. State frankly your reasons for doing so. Give -me an opportunity of clearing myself.’ He had spoken calmly so far, -but all at once his natural impetuosity overpowered him, and he -burst forth with the sentence: ‘Stay! you have just genuflected -towards the Host! you have bent the knee in homage to Him who is -Mercy and Justice, whose minister you are. In His name I demand -justice. Mercy I have long ago ceased to expect.’ - -‘I had rather be keeper of a lunatic asylum,’ said the Bishop of -Lisieux, ‘than be custos of a herd of wild curés.’ - -The Bishop of Évreux laughed aloud. The laugh echoed through the -aisles, and was heard by the priests, as he laid his hand on the -private door. - -The dense black mass of clerics rose, and the bishop darted through -the door with purple cheek and blazing eye, as a hiss, long and -fierce, broke from that body of priests he shepherded. - -‘Barbarians! blackguards!’ said the bishop, shaking his fist at the -Cathedral, as he shut the door behind him and quenched that terrible -sound. ‘Wait! I have chastised you hitherto with whips; when these -States-General are over, I shall thrash you into subserviency with -scorpions.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -On the following day, March 17, the three orders betook themselves -to their several places of reunion, to draw up their memorials of -grievances. The clergy assembled in the hall of the Seminary of S. -Taurinus under the presidency of the bishop of the diocese, assisted -by the Bishop of Lisieux, Féron de la Ferronnais. The nobility met in -the Church of S. Nicholas, with the grand bailiff as their chairman, -and the third estate occupied the audience chamber of the Viscount’s -court, and was presided over by M. Girardin. - -The deliberations of the third estate presented no incident worthy of -note. Unanimity reigned among the members, and its resolutions were -in accordance with, and had indeed been prepared by, the discussions -conducted in the earlier stages of election. What were the pressing -grievances weighing on the people, have been already shown. The -_cahiers_ from the villages and towns which were read before it threw -a clear light also on ecclesiastical abuses; the principal we shall -extract from these documents for the edification of the reader. - -Intolerable abuses had invaded the collation to benefices. The -revenues which had been provided by the piety of the past for the -maintenance of public worship, for the subsistence of the ministers -of religion, and for the support of the poor, had accumulated in the -hands of a few abbés about the Court and high dignitaries of the -Church. M. de Marbeuf, archbishop of Lyons, was Abbot commendatory -of Bec, the nursery of S. Anselm and Lanfranc; the celebrated -Abbé Maury held in commendam the Abbey of Lyons-la-Forêt; Dom -Guillaume-Louis Laforcade, a Benedictine resident at S. Denis, -was Prior of Acquigny; De Raze, minister of the Prince-bishop of -Bâle, was Prior of Saint-Lô, near Bourg-Achard; Loménie de Brienne, -archbishop of Sens, who was minister of finance in 1788, and of whom -M. Thiers well says, that ‘if he did not make the fortune of France, -he certainly made his own,’ possessed 678,000 livres per annum, drawn -from benefices all over France, and his brother, the Archbishop of -Trajanopolis was non-resident Abbot of the wealthy Abbey of Jumiéges. -This state of things drew from the redactors of the _cahiers_ of -the third estate many bitter recriminations. ‘It is revolting,’ -said Villiers-en-Vexin, ‘that the goods of the Church should only -go to nourish the passions of titulars.’ ‘According to the canons,’ -said the parish of Thilliers, ‘every beneficed clergyman is bound -to give a quarter of his income to the poor. In our parish, with a -revenue of twelve thousand livres flowing into the Church, nothing -returns to the poor but the scanty alms of the ill-paid curate.’ ‘Is -it not surprising,’ said the people of Plessis-Hébert, ‘to see so -many bishops and abbés squander their revenues in Paris, instead of -expending them on religious works, in those places whence they are -derived?’ - -Fontenay wrote in stronger terms: ‘The most revolting abuse is the -miserable exspoliation of the commendatory abbeys. The people are -indignant at it. They see the fruit of their toil pass into the -covetous hands of a titular, deaf to the cries of misery, whose ears -are filled with the clatter of political affairs and the rattle of -pleasure. Let the king seize on the property of the Church and pay -with it the debts of the State--this is what the country desires! The -Church has no need of fiefs to govern souls.’ - -Whilst the high dignitaries rolled in riches, a large class of -priests, and that the most deserving, vegetated in a wretched -condition of poverty. These were the curés of parishes, who were -deprived of the tithe which passed into the hands of some lay or -high clerical impropriator, and who received only a small indemnity, -called the _portion congrue_, scarcely sufficient to keep them from -perishing with hunger. - -The _cahiers_ are full of commiseration for these poor disinherited -sons of the Church. Villiers-sur-le-Roule and Tosny assert ‘that -the benefice of their curés, reduced to the _portion congrue_, is -absolutely insufficient for their support, and for enabling them -to render help to the poor. The Abbé of Conches absorbs half the -tithe, and he does not give a sous to the relief of the parish.’ At -Muids, ‘the collegiate church of Ecouis receives all the tithes. -The chapter gives nothing to the poor, and seeks only to augment -the revenue. The curé is reduced to misery.’ The situation is the -same at Saint-Aubin-sur-Gaillon: ‘The extent of this parish makes -the presence of a curate necessary, and as he receives from the Abbé -de la Croix-Saint Leufroy, who holds the great tithes, only three -hundred and fifty livres, and as the sum is quite insufficient, he is -obliged to go round at harvest-time, like a begging friar, through -the hamlets, asking for corn and wine and apples. Surely this is -lowering the priest, and is adding an impost to the already taxed -parish.’ ‘When the curés have hardly a bare subsistence,’ says the -memorial of Fontenay; ‘when they are reduced to live on what is -strictly necessary, what can they offer to the poor? They have only -their tears. Let the curés have the tithe of the parishes in which -they minister.’ - -Still more hardly treated were the town curés, for the _portion -congrue_ paid them was smaller in proportion than that given to the -country priests, upon the excuse that the difference was made up by -the increased number of fees. But it was forgotten that the charges -and other expenses of a town, the calls on the priest’s purse, were -far greater in a populous city than in a country village. - -The house of the clergy was the theatre of stormy scenes, which broke -out between the high dignitaries and the curés living on the _portion -congrue_. These latter had a numerical advantage; they formed a -majority of thirty to one. On the evening of the 16th, instead of -bearing to the episcopal palace the expression of their deference, -they assembled, to the number of three hundred, in a chapel. There, -disdaining all moderation of language, a curé of the diocese of -Évreux boldly said that the inferior clergy had groaned too long -under the oppression of the bishops, and that it was time to shake -off a yoke which had become as odious as it was intolerable. A second -orator, a curé of the diocese of Lisieux, no less energetically -expressed the same opinion. A third priest, having risen to speak, -began to defend the episcopate, whereupon he was silenced by the -clamour of the throng of priests, and his cassock was torn off his -back. When, on the 17th of March, the official deliberation of the -clergy was opened at the Seminary of S. Taurinus, the Bishop of -Évreux proposed to nominate a secretary, and mentioned his choice; -but his nomination was rejected with a firmness which let him -understand that the vast majority of his clergy were antagonistic to -his wishes. Every proposition made by this prelate and his colleague -met with a similar fate, and the memorial addressed to the Crown was -drawn up without their participation, and in a spirit hostile to the -high clergy. - -On March 21, the Bishop of Évreux, smarting under the humiliations -to which he was exposed, wrote a letter to M. Necker, Minister -of Finances, filled with complaints. It contained the following -passage:--‘It is impossible for me, say what I will to them, to keep -this assembly of wild, excited curates in control. I am cast, like a -Christian of old, _ad leones_. These priests, calculating on their -numbers, are inflated with pride, and bear down all remonstrance. -And these are the men we are to send to the States-General, without -a shadow of knowledge of our ecclesiastical affairs; without a trace -of interest in the maintenance of our prerogatives; without a glimmer -of sympathy for our rights, jurisdictions, fiefs, and our territorial -possessions. They are prepared to overturn everything; they are -indifferent to the spoliation of the Church; they are even prepared -to hail its disestablishment, if one were fool enough to suggest such -a possibility. - -‘The high beneficed clergy are unrepresented; how can they be -otherwise, when the great majority of the deputies are taken -from amongst curés who have, as a general rule, no interest in -defending our properties? You are too just not to be struck with -the inconveniences which this general summons of our clergy to an -assembly must drag down on us, and I venture to hope that in future -I shall not be again subjected to the indignity of presiding over a -tumultuous and disorderly rout, such as that at present assembled. -My zeal for the public welfare, and my devotion to the Crown, have -alone sustained me against the outrages I have endured, to the like -of which I have never previously been subjected in my diocese.’ - -A few days after, the bishop received an answer from M. Necker, -couched in these laconic terms:-- - -‘Monseigneur, I grieve to hear of the schism in the assembly under -your presidence. But who is to blame if the children revolt against -their father? I have read somewhere the injunction, which you, -my Lord, may also possibly have seen, “Fathers, provoke not your -children to wrath.”’ - -On the 23rd, the _cahiers_, or memorials of complaints and -recommendations, were completed, and on the 24th the election of -deputies took place. In the hall of the Seminary the election of -clerical delegates was the scene of the final struggle between the -upper and lower clergy, and it was fought with greatest violence. On -the preceding evening the bishops had concerted with those clergy on -whom they thought they could rely, and had resolved to bring forward -M. Parizot de Durand, incumbent of Breteuil, and M. de la Lande, -curé of Illiers-l’Évêque. The former was a worthy priest, greatly -beloved for his piety, exceedingly obstinate in his adhesion to the -existing state of affairs, and utterly averse to change in any form. -He had a favourite maxim, ‘quieta non movere,’ which he produced -on every possible occasion, and which was, in fact, the law of his -life. It was in vain for those who saw the agitation of mind, and -the effervescence of popular feeling, to assure him that nothing was -quiet; the stolid old Conservative was not to be shaken from his -position, and maintained that this excitement was due to the moving -of things hitherto quiet, and that the only cure for it was to reduce -them to their former condition of stagnation. - -M. de la Lande was a man of family. He had been appointed in 1765 -incumbent of the church of Nôtre-Dame in Illiers-l’Évêque; he was -a pluralist, enjoying, in addition, the incumbency of S. Martin, -the second parish in the barony. The collation to these two rich -benefices belonged to the Bishop of Évreux, who was lord of Illiers, -the barony having been made over to the see by Philip de Cahors in -the thirteenth century. M. de la Lande was a courtier, and was often -at Versailles. In his parish he was liked as an amiable, easy-going -parson, fond of his bottle, and passionately addicted to the chase. - -It was arranged that the bishops and beneficed clergy should -not appear prominently as supporting these candidates, but that -they should be proposed and seconded by members of the assembly -not suspected of being rigid partizans of the _ancien régime_. -Monseigneur de Narbonne had given up the hope of being himself -elected, and deemed it prudent not to allow his name to be proposed. - -At nine o’clock the Bishop of Évreux took his seat in the hall of -the Seminary. The large windows admitted floods of light, and the -casements were opened to allow the spring air to enter. The snow -had wholly disappeared during the last few days, and a breath of -vernal air had swept over the land, promising a return of warmth and -beauty. The swallows were busy about the tower of S. Taurin; from the -bishop’s seat the belfry was visible, and the scream of the excited -birds that wheeled and darted to and fro was audible. Now and then -a jackdaw dashed through the fluttering group with a dry stick in -its beak, to add to the accumulation of years which encumbered the -turret stairs. The Cathedral bell summoned the electors, and they -came to their assembly-room in groups of two and three, and took -their seats in silence. The bishop looked sullen and discontented; -he sat rubbing his episcopal ring, breathing on it, and polishing -it on his cuff, and then looking out of the window at the birds. -His large fleshy cheeks hung down, and their usual beefy redness -was changed to an unwholesome mottle of pink and purple. His barber -had not attended on him that morning, or the prelate had been too -busy to allow himself to be shaved, so that his chin and upper lip -presented a rough appearance, which helped to make him look more ill -at ease and out of condition than he had during the earlier part of -the session. He took no notice of the clergy as they entered, and was -regardless of Monsieur de la Ferronnais when he took his place near -him. Every now and then he muttered to himself expressions of disgust -at the situation in which he was placed, and aspirations for a speedy -termination to the session. - -‘Good morning, my dear Lord,’ said the Bishop of Lisieux, touching -his arm. The Bishop of Évreux looked round sulkily, placed his hands -on the arms of his chair, and raised himself slightly from the seat. -Monseigneur de la Ferronnais was a bright old man, amiable, fond of -fun, not particularly anxious about the turn matters took. He was -sure that ‘all would come right in the end.’ - -‘This is your last day in purgatory,’ he said to his colleague. - -‘I thank Heaven,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne, without looking -at him. - -‘You take these troubles too seriously, you lay them too much to -heart,’ continued the Bishop of Lisieux. ‘Let the boys wrangle over -their precious _cahiers_ and _doléances_; we know very well that -they are sops--sops to Cerberus. The Government will never read -them, and it pleases the poor fellows to be called to scribble their -complaints. Possibly the charming queen wants curl-papers for the -ladies of the Court, and has hit on this sweet expedient of obtaining -paper at no personal cost.’ - -‘I cannot, and will not, stand this much longer,’ said the Bishop -of Évreux. ‘I am like the martyr who was stabbed to death with the -styles of his scholars. It is the indignity which I am subjected to -that galls me to the quick.’ - -‘Put your pride in your pocket,’ laughed M. de la Ferronnais. ‘We -have long ago learned to pocket our conscience at the bidding of the -Crown; perhaps our self-respect may fill the other pocket, and so -balance be preserved.’ - -The Bishop of Évreux did not answer. The Cathedral bell had ceased, -and, with an expression of impatience and disgust visible to all in -the room, he rang his hand-bell and opened the sitting. - -‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘we have before us this day an important -duty to fulfil. Let me ask of you to remember that it is not to be -undertaken lightly and in a spirit of private pique. You have to -elect delegates to the national council. You are hardly aware how -great are the issues in the hands of that assembly. If you send -men to utter there the wild sentiments you have been pleased to -express in your paper to the king, you will revolutionise France and -the Church. That there have been, and still exist, abuses in the -political and ecclesiastical worlds, I am the last to deny. In times -of great excitement, extreme partizans of change may precipitate -the constitution into an abyss from which it would take centuries of -reconstruction to recover it. You will be good enough to remember -that the Church in this land is established, that it enjoys great -privileges and possessions; that to wrest from her those possessions -would be to leave her suddenly in a condition of destitution for -which she is wholly unprovided, and to rob her of her privileges -will be to subject her to an indignity from which it is your place -to shield her, as your spiritual mother and the bride of Christ. -Gentlemen, hitherto you have exhibited yourselves as a compact and -resolute body of malcontents. I do not use the word in an injurious -sense. I say you have exhibited yourselves as malcontents, as -dissatisfied with the existing state of affairs in Church and State. -If you wish to have abuses rectified, it will not be by violent men -who endeavour to tear down every institution which by its antiquity -has become full of rents, but it will be by men of calm judgment and -reconstructive ability, who will carefully and reverently restore -and re-adapt what is decayed and antiquated. I ask of you, then, in -the interest of your order, to elect persons of matured judgment and -practical experience. It can be no secret to you that the fate of -France depends on the attitude assumed by your delegates. The house -of the nobility is naturally attached to conservative principles, -that of the third estate is liberal and revolutionary. It will be -our mission to arbitrate between these contending interests, on -the one side to conciliate the people, and on the other to move the -aristocracy to relinquish their most obnoxious privileges, and to -lend their shoulders to ease the third estate of the yoke which, it -is universally acknowledged, presses upon them unduly. Above all, -let us avoid being divided in our own house. We touch both of the -other estates. On one hand, we are allied with the noblesse; on -the other hand, we are attached to the _tiers état_. Through our -hierarchy we are in communication with the noble class, through our -curates we pulsate with the heart of the unprivileged class. Let not -that double union lead to a dissolution of our body, but rather to a -harmonization of the other bodies. _Omne regnum in seipsum divisum -desolabitur, et domus supra domum cadet._’ - -This address, so full of good sense, was not without its effect upon -the clergy. Some began to feel that they had been a little too hard -on the privileged party in the assembly, and that an attempt at -conciliation might now well be made. - -Jean Lebertre, curé of La Couture, rose and said: - -‘Monseigneur, and you my fellow-electors,--At the coming assembly of -the estates of this realm, it is well that all interests should be -represented,--that which desires a redistribution of the funds of -the Church, and that which desires that they should remain in the -hands of a few as prizes to those who are most diligent and most -deserving.’ - -A Voice: ‘When are the prizes so given?’ - -‘Well,’ continued Lebertre, ‘suppose that they are given to the -clergy who by birth or political influence have some claim to receive -them, what then? Is not the Church brought into intimate contact -with both rich and noble, and poor and commoner? If her clergy are -to exert influence over those in the highest classes, they must be -enabled to move in those classes, and to leaven them. To do so, -they must receive an income proportionate to the requirements of -such a life. God forbid that the Church should be only the Church -of the poor and ignorant; and that she must become, if you rob her -of prizes. Educated and intellectual men will not enter her orders -unless they are provided with a competency. We country curés do not -want wealth; our lot is cast among the poor, and by being ourselves -poor, we have a fellow-feeling for our flock, and our flock have an -affection for us. The beneficed clergy, pluralists and commendatory -abbots, are wealthy, and are thus enabled to enter into high society, -and to infuse into it religious principles and a love of morality. -Take away their means, and you withdraw all spiritual influence from -the most powerful, because the highest, stratum of society. I propose -as one candidate for the clergy of this assembly, M. Parizot de -Durand, curé of Breteuil, a priest of unblemished character, and a -man of solid common sense.’ - -M. de Durand was seconded. - -But immediately after, the Abbé Lecerf started up and proposed Thomas -Lindet, curé of Bernay. - -Instantly an expression of anger,--a sudden dark cloud, obscured the -countenance of the president. - -‘I take it as a deliberate insult to myself, that a man should -be proposed to represent the clergy of the diocese who is under -inhibition from me,’ he said, in a passionate loud tone. - -Monseigneur de la Ferronnais shrugged his shoulders, and tapping the -Bishop of Évreux on the back of his hand with his middle finger, -said: ‘You have made as great a mistake now as you made a great hit -by your first speech.’ - -That the Bishop of Lisieux was right became at once apparent. Lindet -sprang up, on fire, in a blaze. - -‘There, there!’ he said, stretching out his hands, that quivered with -excitement and the vehemence of his utterance; ‘see what he wants you -to commit yourselves to--to support the absolute and irresponsible -exercise of discipline. Why am I under inhibition? I will tell you -all. A friend of the bishop’s, then, is a man notorious for his -immoralities, a man very great at Court, or be sure he would not be -monseigneur’s friend. Well, this man attempted to seduce a poor girl, -a peasant’s daughter. She fled from her seducer, and I protected -her, and saved her, at the earnest entreaty of the man’s own wife. -He thereupon charges me with what he himself had failed to do, and -the bishop, who is his guest, complaisantly, at his host’s request, -inhibits me without allowing me a fair hearing, and an open trial.’ - -‘Are we going to be pestered with this nonsense here?’ asked the -bishop, angrily. ‘I pronounce this not to be the place for such -questions to be ventilated.’ - -‘What place is?’ suddenly asked Lindet, turning upon the prelate; ‘I -have asked for a trial, open and fair; I cannot get one. I have no -wish to be your representative, gentlemen; but what I do wish is, -that the whole body of clergy here should protest unanimously against -these arbitrary judgments, and insist on impartiality in our judges.’ - -He sat down. A murmur of sympathy ran through the crowd. A curé of -the town of Évreux sprang up. - -‘How shall we best declare our indignation at the exercise of -authority which is unjust and arbitrary? Surely by electing the man -who has thus signally been ill-treated. I second the nomination of M. -Lindet.’ - -‘I refuse to put his name to the meeting,’ said the bishop. - -‘My brother!’ exclaimed Monseigneur de la Ferronnais, ‘you are -throwing everything into their hands. Be cool.’ - -‘You are not competent to refuse,’ said the Abbé Lecerf. ‘If you -abdicate your place as president, we shall elect another president. -As long as you occupy the chair, monseigneur, you must propose -whoever is named.’ - -‘I contend,’ spoke the dean, rising slowly, ‘that this proposal is -indecent. There are certain charges which it is not well should be -given to the world, and discussed in public. If the bishop sees fit -to exercise his prerogative, and to secretly punish a priest without -publishing his reasons, he is perfectly justified in so doing. It is -necessary to screen the Church from scandal.’ - -‘It is never justice to condemn unheard,’ said Lecerf. - -‘We have groaned too long under this arbitrary exercise of power. -The bishop may suspend and inhibit any congruist in his diocese,’ -exclaimed another priest. ‘If he chooses, he can at any future -occasion, when his gracious Majesty summons us again,--he can, I say, -hold the election in his own hands by suspending and inhibiting all -those who are stipendiary curates, and thus throw all the power into -the scale of the high clergy.’ - -‘It is a question of liberty to elect or of servitude,’ shouted -another curé. - -‘Gentlemen,’ said an old ecclesiastic of Évreux, ‘I was present -last autumn during a conversation between the bishop’s _officiel_, -M. Ponce, and an abbé, whom I see before me, but will not name,--an -abbé, gentlemen, whom I have noticed to be exceedingly diligent in -whipping up voters on the side of privilege. During the conversation -at which I was present, the name of M. Lindet, curé of Bernay, was -mentioned. The abbé here present stated that he had heard rumours -of the intention of some of the clergy of the deanery of Bernay to -make an attempt to nominate M. Lindet as a distinguished upholder of -liberal opinions, and as a priest of much experience and of great -influence. The officer of monseigneur, sitting yonder in the chair, -replied to this that he had discussed the matter with the bishop, -and that they had agreed to stop the nomination at all ventures. M. -Ponce suggested an inhibition, and he said that the bishop had sent -him to Bernay to find some excuse for serving one on the unfortunate -curé of that parish. I address myself to his Lordship, our president. -Let him deny this if he dares. If he does deny it, I shall at once -mention the name of the abbé whom I heard in conversation with the -_officiel_.’ - -A storm was instantly evoked: some clamoured for the name, others -called on the bishop to answer, and others cried ‘Shame, shame!’ - -‘Let the name of M. Lindet be put to the meeting?’ asked the same old -priest. ‘His Lordship is sullen. Rise, all who vote for M. Lindet.’ - -Instantly five or six hundred electors sprang up and waved their -hands above their heads. - -‘Those in favour of M. Durand, stand up.’ - -There was a clatter, as the voters for the inhibited priest sat down, -and about fifty stood up. - -‘Take the numbers,’ rose in a shout from the others. - -Monseigneur de la Ferronnais held his superior by the arm, or the -Bishop of Évreux would have left the room in a fury. - -‘For Heaven’s sake!’ exclaimed he, ‘do be calm. Accept this vote, and -you will get your own man in as the second delegate.’ - -‘I will have nothing more to say to this assembly of ruffians,’ said -the Bishop of Évreux, wrenching his hand away. - -‘I beseech you remain here.’ - -‘Not another moment,’ he said, rising. - -There burst from the mass of priests a shout: - -‘He has vacated the chair!’ - -‘Let the Bishop of Lisieux take it!’ cried the Abbé Lecerf. - -‘The Bishop of Lisieux in the chair! Long live the new president!’ - -Monseigneur de la Ferronnais looked at the Bishop of Évreux. - -‘What is to be done?’ he asked. - -‘Take the chair, in God’s name,’ answered the president, thrusting it -towards him; ‘I will not remain here another moment.’ - -‘You must indeed remain,’ said the Bishop of Lisieux, ‘unless you are -inclined to pass through all those infuriated priests to the door. -There is no side entrance to be used as an easy mode of exit.’ - -Monseigneur de Narbonne scowled down the hall; his colleague was -right, and he seated himself in the chair of his suffragan. - -The Bishop of Lisieux rose to the occasion. As he took the place of -the late president a smile illumined his face--a smile full of good -humour, which was at once reflected from every face in the saloon. - -‘Be quiet, you babies!’ he said, stretching his right hand towards -the ranks of discontented priests; and then he laughed a bright, -ringing laugh, full of freshness. - -Instantly it was echoed from every part of the room. - -‘I was once in Spain,’ began Monseigneur de la -Ferronnais;--Monseigneur de Narbonne winced;--‘I was once in Spain, -at the city of Pampeluna. I found a crowd of people hurrying to the -great square before the principal church. What did they rush there -for? To see a bull baited. I returned to France. I stayed a day or -two in the cathedral town of Bayonne. I found the city assembled on -the quay of the Adour. Wherefore? To enjoy the sport of bear-baiting. -Gentlemen! I have seen a bull baited, I have seen a bear baited, but -never till this day have I witnessed the baiting of a bishop.’ - -He spoke with emphasis, and with that ease of gesture which a -Frenchman knows so well how to make good use of. His words raised a -storm of laughter and cheers. The Bishop of Évreux writhed in his -chair. His suffragan turned towards him, extended his arms as though -to embrace him, laid his head on one side, and in a tone full of -commiseration said: ‘He is down! shall we spare him? In the arena -of ancient Rome, the gladiator who fell elevated the index of his -right hand to ask pity of the spectators---- I see--’ Monseigneur de -Narbonne had his hand up to stop his colleague, but at the allusion, -he instantly withdrew it with a frown. ‘Now, my good spectators, who -are also his assailants, do you stand _presso_ or _verso pollice_? -That is right! You are spared, my Lord Bishop of Évreux.’ - -He seated himself with rapid motion, and crossed his legs; then, -composing his face, he said: - -‘I suppose I need not have voting-papers upon M. Lindet. It is hardly -necessary for me to put his name before you again, but we must -proceed formally. M. Lindet has been proposed by the Abbé Lecerf, and -seconded by M. Rigaud. Those in favour of M. Lindet, hold up their -hands.’ - -He counted the raised palms, collectedly, rank by rank, requesting -each row when counted to lower their hands. - -‘Those opposed to M. Lindet, hold up their hands.’ - -In a minute, he declared Thomas Lindet elected delegate to the -National Assembly. - -‘Now, gentlemen,’ said the president, ‘I wish in no way to influence -your votes in other ways than that of sobriety and consideration. -You must remember that the Church will not be fairly represented at -the States-General, if those in the enjoyment of benefices be wholly -excluded. Choose for your second delegate one as liberal, nay, as -revolutionary in his views as you please, but pray choose one who -may represent the moneyed interests of the Church. I leave it to your -sense of justice and propriety.’ - -This little speech was received with hearty applause. - -M. de la Lande was proposed, seconded, and carried almost unanimously. - -The Bishop of Lisieux turned to his angry brother prelate, and -whispered: - -‘Now we have got your own man in. You see what may be done with -good-humour. If you had attempted to browbeat those curés any longer, -they would have elected as their second representative a more furious -democrat than even Lindet himself.’ - -‘I have had humiliations enough to bear without being made the butt -of your jokes before a rabble,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne, -sullenly. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - -Gabrielle had found a temporary asylum at the house of Robert Lindet, -the lawyer. Robert lived in a small villa, with his brother Peter, -on the side of the road to Brionne and Rouen. The house stood back -from the dusty highway, with a long strip of garden before it, and a -high wall completely shutting it off from the road. A row of trees -occupied one side of the garden, ending in a green ivy-covered -arbour, in which no one ever sat, as it occupied an angle in the high -walls, and commanded no view, and was by its position excluded from -air and light. - -The garden was poor. Two little patches of flowers--larkspur and -escholtzia and white lilies--were nearly the only ones that grew in -it; the two former sowed themselves, and the latter remained where -it had been planted in Robert’s youth. The rest of the garden was -turf. On it stood a hutch of white rabbits with black noses, which -were constantly escaping over the garden and destroying the flowers. -The house front consisted of two parts, the portion occupied by the -lawyer and his brother, and that given over to the cook and kitchen, -which latter portion was an incongruous adjunct to the trim little -house. The kitchen was on the ground-floor, and a ladder staircase in -the open air gave access to the bedroom above. - -The house--little altered--is at present the abode of the Chaplain to -the Convent of the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament. - -The lower rooms of the house being turned into offices, the brothers -were wont, in cold weather, to sit over the fire in the kitchen, -where Gabrielle presided. - -Gabrielle was not happy. That last piercing cry of her protectress -and friend, Madame Berthier, had entered her heart, and stuck there -like a barbed arrow. As she lay awake at night, she thought of the -huge prison, dark and cold, down whose passages no sunbeams streamed, -and of the poor lady alone there, in solitude and despair. During -the day she thought of her,--of the cold she must feel in her cell, -of the deprivation of scenes of beauty and life. ‘I ought to do -something for her, but what can I do!’ She asked those who knew -anything about Paris whether there would be a possibility of her -obtaining admission to the Bastille, to wait upon the prisoner, but -they all replied with a shake of the head. - -On March 25th, Etienne Percenez was sitting in the kitchen with the -brothers Lindet, whilst Gabrielle washed dishes and forks and spoons -at the sink in the window. - -The conversation had run upon the political movements of the day, the -abuses needing correction, the rights of the people which required -acknowledgment. Gabrielle had listened without much interest, and -the names of Necker, Artois, Sartines, De Brienne, &c., had entered -her ear without attracting her attention, when all at once it was -arrested by a remark of the colporteur: - -‘The Bastille and the lettres-de-cachet! Have they been protested -against?’ - -‘The time has not come,’ said Robert Lindet; ‘our cahiers mention -grievances of which we are personally cognizant. When the -States-general meet, then every nook and cranny of the old _régime_ -will be searched and swept out.’ - -‘What can be more iniquitous than the lettre-de-cachet?’ asked -Percenez; ‘the king gives blank forms for any one to fill in, -and thus lives and liberties are sacrificed without trial. -Saint-Florentin gave away fifty-thousand. What became of these blank -orders of imprisonment? They were matters of traffic; fathers were -shut up by their sons, husbands by their wives; Government clerks, -their mistresses, and the friends of the mistresses,--any pretty -woman of easy virtue inconvenienced by a strait-laced husband or -father or mother, with a little civility, flattery, money, could get -these terrible orders by which to bury those they desired to get rid -of.’ - -‘And sometimes,’ said Robert, ‘the Bastille was an easy payment of a -State debt. The Baron and Baroness Beausoleil spent their fortune and -their time in opening valuable mines. When all their wealth was gone, -they applied to Richelieu for payment, or at least a recognition of -their services. The recognition was accorded them. They were shut up -for life in the Bastille, apart from one another, and separated for -ever from their children!’ - -‘Ah!’ exclaimed Peter; ‘this is too bad. You know that the king had -abolished these lettres-de-cachet. Why do you rake up old grievances -which are long dead?’ - -‘Dead grievances!’ said Stephen Percenez; ‘you forget, Monsieur -Pierre, they are only asleep, not dead. It is true Louis XVI has -forbidden the incarceration of any one at the request of their -families, without a well-grounded reason. But who is to be judge -of the soundness of the reason? And who forced him to decree -that?--Madame Legros.’ - -‘Madame Legros!’ said Gabrielle, coming forward; ‘tell me, who was -she?’ - -‘Did you never hear of Latude?’ asked Percenez. - -‘Never,’ answered Gabrielle. ‘Was he a prisoner?’ - -‘Yes, for thirty-four years in Bicêtre and the Bastille, thrown into -the worst dungeons, by the spite of a woman--a harlot, Madame de -Pompadour. He wrote his appeals for mercy, and pardon for crimes he -had never committed, on rags, in his own blood; then they buried him -in holes underground without light, where he spent long years in -domesticating rats. Once a memorial addressed to some philanthropist -or other--one memorial out of a hundred, was lost by a drunken -jailer--a woman picked it up. That woman was a poor mercer, who sat -stitching in her shop door. She picked up the fluttering sheet and -read it, and resolved to liberate the miserable sufferer.’ - -Gabrielle bent forward, with her eyes fixed on the speaker. - -‘What did she do?’ she asked, eagerly. - -‘What did she not do?’ returned Étienne Percenez; ‘she worried every -great man to whom she could obtain access with her story of the -wrongs of Latude, and his sufferings in prison. She consecrated her -life to his. All kinds of misfortune beset her, but she held firmly -to her cause. Her husband remonstrated with her--he called her -enthusiasm folly, for her business failed, as well it might, when -her time was spent in seeking audiences with great Lords and high -Churchmen, and when her attention was fixed on something other than -caps and gowns. Her father died, then her mother. Slanderous tales -were raised about her: it was asserted that she was the mistress -of the prisoner, for whose liberation she laboured, and sacrificed -all. The police threatened her; but she remained invincible. The -story of Latude’s sufferings and of Madame Legros’ self-devotion -spread through France, whispered from one to another. In the depths -of winter, on foot, far advanced in pregnancy, the brave woman set -out for Versailles, resolved to appeal at head-quarters. She found -a femme de chambre inclined to take her memorial to the queen, but -an abbé passing snatched it from her hand, and tore it up, bidding -her not attempt to meddle. Cardinal de Rohan--he, you know, who -was concerned in the affair of the necklace--was good-natured, and -he endeavoured to move Louis XVI to pardon Latude--pardon him for -what? for having in some way caused annoyance to his grandfather’s -mistress; in what way?--nobody knows. Three times the king refused to -pardon and liberate this man whose life had been wasted in a prison. -At last, in 1784, Madame Legros had so worked on public opinion, that -the king was forced to release him. You see what woman can do!’ - -Gabrielle raised her eyes and hands to heaven. - -‘May God enable me to do the same for Madame Berthier!’ she cried. - -‘There now, Étienne,’ said Robert, with a curl of the lip; ‘you have -applied a match to a barrel of gunpowder.’ - -‘Ah! if it were to blow down the walls of the Bastille!’ said the -pedlar, shaking his brown head. - -‘Dear friend,’ said the girl, laying her hand on Percenez’ arm; ‘she -who saved me in my hour of deepest need, she who stood between me and -ruin, is now in that awful place. Her last cry was to me to save -her. Tell me, what can I do?’ - -‘Nothing, absolutely nothing, except washing up dishes,’ answered -Robert Lindet. - -She did not attend to him, but looked straight into Percenez’ eyes. -The girl was so beautiful, so earnest and enthusiastic, that the -colporteur gazed on her with admiration, and did not answer. - -‘I must do something,’ she proceeded to say; ‘I hear her voice -calling me, night and day. That cry of “Gabrielle, save me!” haunts -me. I am tortured with inactivity.’ - -‘My good girl,’ Robert observed, ‘there is not the slightest occasion -for inactivity. There are the floors to be scoured, and the cobwebs -to be brushed away, and the dishes to be washed.’ - -‘Good, kind master!’ cried the girl, turning to him; ‘you have -received me when I was homeless. But did I not tell you that I could -not remain in your service? I warned you that I had something to do -that must be done----’ - -‘Fudge!’ said the lawyer. ‘You women are highflown, crazy creatures. -You can do nothing for Madame Berthier; content yourself with the -certainty of that, and stick to your kitchen-work, or, if you like it -better, feed the rabbits.’ - -Percenez smiled. A smile on his rugged brown countenance was rare, -and it had meaning whenever it appeared. - -‘Excuse me, M. Lindet,’ he said; ‘I have faith in enthusiasm. Before -that every barrier goes down. It is absolutely unconquerable.’ - -‘Enthusiasm is faith run to extravagance,’ answered the lawyer. -‘Enthusiasm is good for a dash, but it is not fit for continuous -work. Enthusiasm would level a mountain, but it would never -reconstruct it.’ - -‘Hark!’ exclaimed Peter, holding up his finger. - -The others were silent and listened. They heard the bells of S. Cross -pealing merrily. - -‘What can be the occasion?’ asked Percenez. - -Peter took his pipe out of his mouth, and walked slowly into the -garden. Robert and Stephen followed him. From the high stone wall the -clamour of the bells was echoed noisily. - -‘It is very odd,’ said Robert; ‘what can be the reason?’ - -At that moment the garden-door opened, and M. Lamy, one of the -curates (_vicaires_) of Bernay, rushed in, his face beaming with -pleasure. - -‘Well! what is the news?’ asked Percenez. - -‘The best, the very best of news,’ answered the priest. ‘M. Thomas -Lindet is elected delegate of the clergy to the Estates-general.’ - -‘An enthusiast,’ said Robert, with a smile aside to Percenez. - -‘Ah! M. Robert, and it is just his enthusiasm which has taken him -ahead of all the rest of the class, and turned him into a delegate.’ - -Whilst Robert and Peter talked with M. Lamy, the little brown -colporteur turned back to the kitchen, and said to Gabrielle: ‘Well, -what about your protectress?’ - -‘My friend,’ answered Gabrielle, earnestly and vehemently; ‘I shall -go to Paris, if I go on foot, and I shall see what can be done. I -will implore the queen on my knees to use her influence to obtain the -release of Madame Berthier.’ - -‘You forget; that lady is not shut up as a political offender, but -because she is insane.’ - -‘I will do what I can,’ answered the girl, simply. ‘She has no one -else to assist her--no one else to speak for her.’ - -‘You are only a peasant-girl.’ - -‘Well! what was Madame Legros?’ - -‘Are you resolved?’ - -She put her hand on her heart. - -‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I have no rest here. I shall have no rest -till I have done my utmost.’ - -‘Paris is a dangerous place for a young and pretty maiden.’ - -‘Ah! Monsieur Étienne, the good God, who raised up a protectress for -me in my need before, will deliver me in any future peril.’ - -‘What have you to live upon in Paris?’ - -‘I do not know.’ - -‘You must bear in mind that great distress exists there, that money -is scarce and provisions are dear.’ - -‘God will provide.’ - -‘He will provide if He calls you there, not otherwise.’ - -‘Is it not His call that I hear now?’ asked the girl, her face -brightening with enthusiasm. ‘My friend, my father’s friend, listen -to me. There is a something within me, I cannot tell you what it is, -which draws me from this place after my dear, unfortunate madame. -Only yesterday I was walking in the wood above La Couture. I went to -pray at a crucifix which I well know, for it was there that M. Lindet -first stood my champion against him whom I will not name. I prayed -there--I cannot tell you for how long, and I asked for a sign--a -sign what I was to do.’ She paused timidly, dropped her eyes, and -continued in a whisper: ‘Whilst I was on my knees, all on an instant -I felt something leap upon my shoulder.’ - -‘Well, child, what was it?’ asked Percenez with a smile. - -‘It was Madame Berthier’s yellow cat, it looked so lean and -neglected, and its yellow dye was nearly worn off it. It knew me, for -it rubbed its head against my cheek.’ - -‘Nonsense, Gabrielle, do you call _that_ a sign?’ - -‘Yes, Monsieur Étienne, it was a sign to me. It would not have been -so to anyone else, may be, but I know what that cat was to the poor -lady, I know what she suffers now in being separated from it; and, if -it were only to restore her cat to her, I would walk barefoot all the -way to Paris.’ - -‘I suspect the only success you will meet with will be that.’ - -‘Well, and that will be something.’ - -‘You are a resolute girl.’ - -‘Monsieur Étienne, I _must_ go.’ - -‘Why so?’ - -‘If I did not go, I should die.’ - -The little brown man looked fixedly at her, and then said: - -‘Gabrielle, I have known you from a little girl. I am going to Paris. -Like you, I _must_ go. I am fixed with a desire to see the working -out of this great problem, the States-General. Gabrielle! the French -people are like your Madame Berthier, chained and in prison. I do -not know whether my feeble voice will avail to effect their release. -You do not know whether yours will liberate one individual out of -that great suffering family. Well! we go in hope, vague may be, but -earnest, and resolved to do our best. We shall go together.’ - -‘What do you say, monsieur?’ - -‘I will go and visit my sister, Madame Deschwanden, and shall take -you with me. We shall see what takes place.’ - -‘You will help me to get to Paris?’ - -‘Yes, I will.’ - -Miaw! The yellow cat, which had been asleep in a corner, was now wide -awake, and at a bound had reached Gabrielle’s shoulder. - -How merrily in Gabrielle’s ear sounded the bells of S. Cross! - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Old Paris is no more. Every day some feature of the ancient capital -disappears. This is a commonplace remark. Everyone says it; but few -realize how true it is. We, who revisit that queen of cities after -an interval of--say, ten years, see mighty changes. Streets are open -where were houses once; markets have altered their sites; squares -occupy the place where we remember piles of decaying houses; churches -appear, where we did not know that they stood, so buried were they in -high, many-storied houses. - -We can breathe in Paris now. Down the boulevards the breeze can now -rustle and sweep away the stale odours which once hung all the year -round ancient Paris. - -But we have no conception of what that capital was in 1789. Paris had -grown without system. None had drawn out a plan of what it was to be, -where the streets were to run, and where squares were to open. The -thoroughfares had come by chance, without order, without law, almost -without object; the streets twisted and wound their way between -walls black with smoke, and overhanging; the houses, with their -feet in mud and garbage, and their heads in smoke, stood sideways -to the road, as though they turned away to avoid a disagreeable -sight and odour. Their narrow front to the street was topped with a -high-pitched gable, unless some modern architect had squared it off. -Here and there were cemeteries adjoining markets, a refuse heap on -which lay dead animals in putrefaction, nooks, where beggars crouched -in rags, blind alleys in which squalid children played, open sewers, -and public cesspools. - -The Seine, spanned by five bridges encumbered with low vessels moored -head and stern, out of which the washer-women cleaned their dirty -linen, resembled a wide stagnant ditch. The fall being slight, the -river but leisurely carried off the filth from the sewers, the soap -from the washing-boats, and the dye that flowed into it from the -factories. Add to this the slops and sewage of the Hôtel Dieu, which -contained six thousand patients suffering from all the loathsome -disorders to which human nature is subject, and one can appreciate -the _bon-mot_ of Foote, when he was asked by a Parisian whether he -had such a river in London, ‘No, we had such an one, but we stopped -it up (alluding to the Fleet Ditch); at present, we have only the -Thames.’ - -Beneath the Pont Nôtre Dame, a net was every night let down to stop -the bodies of drowned men, and of such as were murdered and thrown -into the river. - -At seven in the morning, twice a week, a bell was rung through the -streets for the inhabitants to sweep before their houses; but for -this, there would have been no possibility of walking, there being no -foot-way. - -Gabrielle and the little brown Percenez entered Paris on the 28th of -April. The streets, crowded with people, astonished the girl. Her -eyes turned with wonder from side to side. The height of the houses, -the intricacy of the streets, the antiquity of the buildings, the -number of crossings, shops, coffee-houses, stalls, were such as -she had never seen before. Her ears were assailed by the cries of -fruiterers and pedlars of all sorts with their carts, and by the -rattle and rumble of wheels upon the stone pavement. As a coach -drove by, the girl and her conductor stepped up against the wall, -there being no footway; when a couple of carriages met, it was often -difficult to avoid being run over. The hackney coaches, distinguished -then, as they are now, by numbers in yellow painted on their backs, -jolted past in shoals. Uneasy, dirty vehicles they were, with a -board slung behind the coach-box, upon which the driver stood. Trim -little sedan chairs on wheels some thirty inches high, dragged by -a man between shafts like the handles of a wheelbarrow, dived in -and out among the stalls and carriages, and rattled jauntily and -expeditiously along. Sometimes a grand coach, behind which were -suspended footmen in livery, with long white staves, rolled down -solemnly and slowly, scattering the hucksters and sedan chairs, as a -hawk disperses a flight of sparrows. - -‘Do you notice, Gabrielle,’ said Percenez, ‘the wheels of the private -carriages are girt with tires made in small pieces, whilst the hired -fiacres have their wheels girt with hoops of iron in one piece? You -would be surprised, little girl, how much envy the jointed tires -excite; for only gentlemen of birth are entitled to use them.’ - -‘Are we going the right way, Monsieur Étienne?’ asked Gabrielle, -timidly, for she was so bewildered by the novelty of her position, -that she thought the streets of Paris a tangle in which none could -fail to lose the way. - -‘Be not afraid, we are bound for the street S. Antoine. I know the -road. I was here only five years ago, and Paris is not a place to -change in a hurry.’ - -Just then they heard a body of voices shouting a song. Gabrielle -looked round, and exclaimed:-- - -‘Oh, Monsieur Étienne, here is a great mob advancing. What is to be -done?’ - -‘Do not be afraid,’ answered the little man; ‘listen, what is it they -are chanting?’ - -The words were audible. As the band approached, every man, woman, and -child joined in the song:-- - - ‘Vive le tiers état de France! - Il aura la prépondérance - Sur le prince, sur le prélat. - Ahi! povera nobilita! - Le plébéien, puits de science, - En lumières, en expérience, - Surpasse le prêtre et magistrat, - Ahi! povera nobilita!’ - -Percenez took off his hat, and waved it with a cheer. - -On they came, a legion, a billow of human beings, bearing before them -an effigy, raised aloft, of a large man with a white waistcoat, a -snuff-coloured coat, a powdered wig, and wearing a decoration, the -_cordon-noir_. The figure rocked upon the shoulders of the men who -carried it, and the bystanders hooted and laughed. Away before the -mob flew the hackney coaches and the wheeled chairs, like the ‘povera -nobilita’ escaping from the rising people. Heads appeared at the -windows; from some casements kerchiefs were fluttered; from most, -faces looked down without expressing special interest or enthusiasm. - -The little brown colporteur caught the sleeve of a man who sold -onions. - -‘What effigy is that?’ he asked. - -‘That is Réveillon,’ was the answer. - -‘And who is he?’ - -‘A paper-maker.’ - -‘Why are the mob incensed against him?’ - -‘He has made a great fortune, and is now bent on reducing the wages -of his workmen.’ - -‘Is that all?’ - -‘And he has received, or is about to receive, a decoration.’ - -Percenez shrugged his shoulders; the onion-seller did the same. - -‘Monsieur Étienne!’ said Gabrielle, timidly; ‘do let us retire before -this crowd. It will swallow us up.’ - -‘You are right, child; we will get out of the way. I have no interest -in this affair.’ - -He drew her back into a large doorway with a wicket gate in it. They -stepped through this wicket into the carriage-way to the yard within. -A violent barking saluted them. At the same moment, a gentleman -emerged upon one of the galleries that surrounded the court, and, -leaning on the balcony, called-- - -‘Gustave!’ - -‘Eh, monsieur?’ exclaimed the porter, starting from his room. - -‘Shut and lock the door, before the mob come up.’ - -Percenez and Gabrielle recognised the voice and face of Berthier. -Before Gustave could fasten the gate, the girl dragged her companion -back into the street; in another moment they were caught in the -advancing wave, and swept onwards towards the Faubourg S. Antoine. - -What followed passed as a dream. Gabrielle saw rough faces on all -sides of her, wild eyes, bushy beards and moustaches. She heard the -roar of hoarse voices chanting; she felt the thrust and crush around -her, and her feet moved rapidly, otherwise she would have fallen and -been trodden down. She clung to Percenez, and the little man held her -hand tightly in his own. It was strange to Gabrielle afterwards to -remember distinctly a host of objects, trivial in themselves, which -impressed themselves on her memory in that march. There was a man -before her with a blue handkerchief tied over his hat and under his -chin. The corner of this kerchief hung down a little on the right, -and Gabrielle would have had it exactly in the middle. The green -coat of a fellow bearing a pole and an extemporized flag attached to -it, had been split up the back and mended with brown thread. In one -place only was the thread black. Gabrielle remembered the exact spot -in the coat where the brown thread ended and the black thread began. -The great man who marched on her left had a bottle of leeches in his -hand, and he was filled with anxiety to preserve the glass from being -broken. How came he among the crowd? Gabrielle wondered, and formed -various conjectures. He was very careful of his leeches, but also -very determined to remain in the midst of the throng. Above the heads -and hats and caps rocked the image of the paper manufacturer, and -Gabrielle saw the arms flap and swing, as it was jerked from side to -side by the bearers. A dead cat whizzed through the air, and struck -the effigy on the head, knocking the three-cornered hat sideways. The -mob shouted and stood still. Then one of the men who preceded them -with a banner laid his pole across the street, and shouted for the -cat. It was tossed over the heads of the people, and he picked it up -and attached it to the neck of the image of Réveillon. Then he reared -his banner again, and the crowd flowed along as before. - -Gabrielle took advantage of the halt to peep into a basket she -carried on her arm. As she raised the lid, a paw was protruded, and a -plaintive miaw announced to her that the yellow cat she had brought -with her was tired of its imprisonment, and alarmed at the noise. - -All at once the pressure on every side became less, the rioters had -moved out of the narrow street into an open space. The girl looked -up. Before her rose dark massive towers,--she could see five at a -glance; one stood at an angle towards the street, drums of towers -crenelated at top, and capped with pepper-boxes for the sentinels. -The walls were pierced at rare intervals with narrow slits. One -window only, of moderate dimensions, was visible, and that was high -up in the angle-tower, oblong, narrow, cut across with a huge stone -transom, and netted over with iron stanchions. The walls were black -with age and smoke. The sunlight that fell upon them did not relieve -their tint, but marked them with shadows black as night. - -Adjoining the street was a high wall, against which were built shops -and taverns. These, however, ceased to encumber the wall near the -gate, which was in the Italian style, low pedimented, and adorned -with the arms of France in a shield. Through slits on either side -moved the great beams of the drawbridge. - -As Gabrielle looked, awe-struck, at this formidable building, she -heard the clank of chains and the creak of a windlass, and slowly the -great arms rose and carried up with them a bridge that shut over the -mouth of the gate, as though there were secrets within which might -not be uttered in the presence of that crowd. - -The mob fell into line before the gate and moat that protected it, -facing it with threatening looks. All at once, with a roar like -that of an advancing tidal wave, there burst from the mob, with one -consent, the curse--‘Down with the Bastille!’ - -Then they faced round again, and rushed upon the factory of -Réveillon, situated under the towers of the terrible fortress. - -‘Up to the lanthorn!’ - -The cry was responded to by a general shout. In another moment a rope -was flung over the chain stretched across the street from which -the lanthorn lighting the street was suspended, and the effigy of -Réveillon dangled in the air. This execution was greeted with yells -of applause; men and women joined hands and danced under the figure. -Some threw sticks and stones at it; these falling on the heads of the -spectators, added to the confusion. At last, a young man, catching -the legs of the image, mounted it, and seated himself astride on the -shoulders. He removed the three-cornered hat and wig and placed them -on his own head, amidst laughter and applause. The strain upon the -lanthorn-chain was, however, too great, and one of the links yielding -at the moment when the youth stood upon Réveillon’s shoulders and -began a dance, he, the effigy, and the lanthorn were precipitated -into the street. What became of the man nobody knew, and nobody -cared; the image was danced upon and trodden into the dirt; the -lanthorn was shivered to pieces, and the glass cut the feet of those -who trampled on it. - -The factory doors were shut and barred; the windows were the same. -The rioters hurled themselves against the great gates, which were -studded with iron, but they could not burst them open. Some shouted -for fire, others for a beam which might be driven against them, and -so force them open. But the banner-bearer in the green coat stitched -with black and brown thread laid his pole against the side of the -house, swarmed up it, axe in hand, and smote lustily at the shutters -of one of the windows. The splinters flew before his strokes, and -soon one of the valves broke from its hinges, and slid down the wall. -Next minute, the green man was inside, waving his hat to the people, -who cheered in response. - -They fell back from the door. Another man crept in at the broken -window, and joined the fellow who had cut his way through the -shutter. The two together unfastened the door, and the mob poured -into Réveillon’s factory. Adjoining was the house of Réveillon. -Its doors were forced open at the same time as the paper-making -establishment. The private entrance to an upper storey of the -workshops from the house was burst by those in the factory, and the -mob crowding in from the street met that breaking in from above. The -besiegers having now taken complete possession, and meeting with no -resistance (for Réveillon had taken refuge in the Bastille, and his -servants had fled,) they spread themselves over the premises from -attic to cellar. The workmen lately employed to make and dye the -paper were foremost in breaking the machinery, and in tapping the -large vats in which the white pulp lay, thus flooding the floors with -what looked like curdled milk. Some descended to the cellars and -drank the wine stored for Réveillon’s table, others drank the dyes, -mistaking them for wine, and rolled in agony in the whey-like fluid -on the ground, spluttering out the crimson and green liquors they had -imbibed. Those who had axes, and those who had armed themselves with -fragments of the machinery, smashed mirrors, tables, pictures, broke -open drawers and destroyed all the movables within reach, and then -flung them through the windows among the crowd below. Among other -objects discovered was a portrait in oils of Réveillon; this was -literally minced up by the rioters, who waxed more furious as they -found material on which to expend their rage. Two men, armed with a -great saw, began to cut through the main rafters of the great room of -the factory. When those who thronged this appartement saw what was -taking place, they were filled with panic, and rushed to the door, or -flung themselves out of the windows, to escape being trampled down by -those behind. Some, entering the rag-store, rent open the bales, and -strewed the tatters about in all directions. One man--it was he with -the leeches--holding his bottle, still unemptied and unbroken, in one -hand, applied a torch to the rag-heaps, and set the store in a blaze; -others fired the warehouse of paper. Flames issued from the cellars -of Réveillon’s house. It was apparent to all the rioters within, -that, unless they made a speedy exit, they would perish in the fire. -Instantly a rush was made to the doors. As they poured through them, -a horizontal flash of light darted into their eyes, followed by a -rattling discharge, and several of the foremost rioters rolled on the -pavement. - -Late in the day, when all the mischief was done, a regiment of -Grenadiers had been ordered to the spot by the commandant of that -quarter of the town, M. de Châtelet. - -The mob replied to the volley by hurling paving-stones, broken pieces -of Réveillon’s furniture, iron fragments of the machinery; in short, -anything ready at hand. - -The man with the bottle of leeches ran out into the middle of the -street, a torch in his right hand, flourished the firebrand over -his head, and called on his companions to follow him against the -soldiers. Two or three started forwards. The military fired again. -The man leaped high into the air, hurled his firebrand into their -midst, and fell his length, shot through the heart; his bottle broke, -and the leeches wriggled over his prostrate form. - -The Grenadiers did not fire again. A rumbling noise was heard, and -along with it the tramp of advancing feet. In another moment the -red uniforms of the Swiss soldiers gleamed out of the shadow of -the street, and a battalion with fixed bayonets charged down the -square in front of the Grenadiers, sweeping the mob before them. -In their rear were a couple of cannon, drawn by horses, which were -rapidly placed in position to clear the streets. But they were not -discharged. The Grenadiers wheeled and charged in the direction -opposite to that taken by the Swiss, and in a few minutes the scene -of the riot was deserted by all save the dead and the dying, and the -inhabitants looking anxiously from their windows. - -Why had not the soldiers been sent earlier? - -On the preceding day the mob had threatened this attack, but had -been prevented from accomplishing their intention by the train of -carriages that encumbered the road through the Faubourg S. Antoine, -the 27th April being the day of the Charenton races. They had -contented themselves with stopping all the carriages, and shouting -through the windows, ‘Long live the Third Estate!’ The carriage -of the Duke of Orleans had been alone excepted. The people had -surrounded it, and cheered vociferously. - -The reason why the destruction of Réveillon’s factory was permitted -by Berthier the Intendant, and Besenval the Commandant of the -Forces in and around Paris, was that the Court had taken alarm at -the threatening attitude of the third estate and the people of the -metropolis, and it hoped to have an excuse for concentrating troops -on Versailles and Paris. - -The elections at Paris were not completed, the Estates-General had -not met, but the crowd of nobles, headed by the Count d’Artois and -the Princes of Condé and Conti, had seen that the King, by calling -together the three estates, and by permitting Necker to double the -representation of the Commons, had created a Frankenstein, which, -if allowed to use its power, would strangle privilege. The Count -d’Artois ruled the Queen, and the Queen ruled the weak, good-natured -King. Marie Antoinette had imbibed fears from the Count, and had -communicated them to the King, and he had begun to feel restless and -anxious about the great assembly, which he had convoked. He could not -prevent its meeting, but he could constrain its utterances, and he -only wanted an excuse for massing around it the army, to force the -third estate to vote money, and to keep silence on the subject of -reform. - -But where are Percenez and Gabrielle? We have lost sight of them in -the crowd. We must return to their side. We left them before the -Bastille, as the mob rolled towards Réveillon’s factory. - -‘Now, my child, hold fast to me,’ said the colporteur; ‘my sister -lives near this,--yonder, under the wall. She is married again; I -always forget her new name,--it is not that of a Christian--at least, -it is not a French name. She has married one of the Swiss guard, a -widower, with a tall, hulking son, and she has got a daughter by her -late-husband, Madeleine. Ah! you will like her,--a nice girl, but -giddy.’ - -The little man worked his way through the crowd till he had brought -Gabrielle before a small house that abutted upon the outer wall of -the fortress. The door was shut and locked, and Percenez knocked -at it in vain; then he beat against the window-glass, but no one -answered, the fact being that his sister, Madame Deschwanden--such -was the name unpronouncable by French lips--and her daughter, -Madeleine Chabry, were upstairs, looking out of the window at the -mob and its doings, and were deaf to the clatter at their own door. -Percenez soon discovered the faces of his sister and niece, and -stepping back to where he could be seen by them, signalled to them, -and shouted their names. - -‘Ah!’ screamed Madame Deschwanden, clasping her hands, then throwing -them round her daughter’s neck, and kissing her, ‘there is my brother -Stephen! Is it possible? Stephen, is that really you? What brought -you here? How are all the good people at Bernay? I am charmed! -Madeleine, I shall die of joy.’ - -‘Will you let us in, good sister?’ - -‘Who is that with you? You must tell me. But wait! I will open the -door myself. Oh ecstasy! oh raptures! Praised be Heaven! Come, -delicious brother, to my bosom.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - -As soon as Madame Deschwanden had introduced her brother and -Gabrielle to the inside of her house, she fell back, contemplated -Percenez with outspread hands and head on one side, and then -precipitated herself into his arms, exclaiming, ‘Oh ecstasy! oh -raptures! it is he.’ - -Having extricated herself from her brother’s arms almost as rapidly -as she had fallen into them, she said, ‘Come along to the window, and -see the rest of the fun.’ - -She caught Percenez in one hand and Gabrielle in the other, and drew -them upstairs into the room in which she had been sitting before she -descended to admit them. - -‘Étienne, you know my daughter Madeleine, do you not?’ she asked -abruptly; then turning towards the new comer, and from her to her own -daughter, she introduced them: - -‘Madeleine Chabry--Madame Percenez.’ - -‘Pardon me,’ said the colporteur, laughing; ‘little Gabrielle is not -my wife.’ - -‘Ah! a sweetheart.’ - -‘No, nor that either.’ - -‘Well, never mind explanations,’ said Madame Deschwanden; ‘they -are often awkward, and always unnecessary. Of one thing I can be -certain, mademoiselle is charming, and she is heartily welcome,’ she -curtsied towards the girl, and then vivaciously changed the subject. -‘The sport! we must not miss it. Oh! they have got into the factory, -and into the house. Oh! the exquisite, the enchanting things that -are being destroyed. Perfidious heavens! I know there are angelic -wall-papers in that abandoned Réveillon’s shop--I have seen them with -these eyes--and all going to ruin. Saints in Paradise! such papers -with roses and jessamines and Brazilian humming-birds.’ Then, rushing -to the door of the room, she called loudly, ‘Klaus! Klaus!’ - -‘What do you want, mother?’ asked a young man, coming to the door. - -Percenez and Gabrielle turned to look at him. He was a slender youth -of nineteen, with very light hair and large blue eyes. His face was -somewhat broad, genial, and good-natured. He was without his coat, -his shirt-sleeves were rolled up his muscular arms, and the collar -was open at the throat, exposing his breast and a little black -riband, to which was attached a medal resting on it. - -‘What do I want!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, starting from -the window into the middle of the room. ‘How can you ask such a -question, Klaus? Look at these walls. They are my answer.’ - -‘My dear mother, what do you mean?’ - -‘Klaus, you are little better than a fool. The people are sacking the -factory, and there you stand. My faith! it is enough to make angels -swear! And papers--wall-papers, to be had for nothing--for the mere -taking. I saw one myself with roses and jessamine and humming-birds, -and there was another--another for a large room. I saw it with these -eyes--a paper to paper heaven! with a blue sky and an Indian forest -of palms, and an elephant with a tower on its back, and a man holding -a large red umbrella, and a tiger in the attitude of death, receiving -a shot, and foaming with rage, and monkeys up a palm. Mon Dieu! you -must get it me at once, or I shall expire. Klaus, I must and will -have those papers.’ - -‘You absurd little mother,’ said Klaus, stepping into the room and -laughing; ‘do you think I am going to steal Réveillon’s goods for -you, and get myself and you and father and Madeleine into trouble? Be -content.’ - -‘Content!’ exclaimed madame. ‘Who ever heard such a word? _Content!_ -with papers--wall-papers, think of that, going a-begging. I know -that those idiots yonder will burn the factory and save nothing. -Klaus, you seraph, my own jewel!’ she cast herself on his bosom; -‘to please the mamma, though she be a stepmother in name but never -one in sentiment, to please her who studies your fondest whims. You -know very well,’ said she, suddenly recovering herself, ‘that I put -myself out of the way only yesterday for you, that I sacrificed -my own wishes to yours only yesterday. Did I not prepare veal _à -l’oseille_ for your dinner, and you know in your inmost heart that I -preferred it _aux petits pois_?’ Then instantly becoming indignant, -she frowned, stiffened in every joint, became angular, and said, -‘ingrate!’ - -‘My dear, good mother----’ - -‘Now look you here,’ she interrupted; ‘we will sit together on the -sofa, in the corner, and whisper together. Come along.’ She had him -by the arm, and dragged him over to the seat she had indicated, and -pinned him into the angle with her gown, which she spread out before -her, as she subsided beside him. - -‘You know, you rogue, that my wishes are law to you. Do not deny it. -Think of this. I wish, I furiously desire, I burst with impatience -to possess at least one of those papers. Bring enough to cover all -the walls. I see it in your eyes--you are going! it mantles on your -cheek, it quivers on your tongue. Oh ecstasy! oh raptures!’ she -leaped from her sofa, and running to those at the window kissed them -all, one after the other. ‘He has promised. This room will speedily -be a bower of roses and jessamine and Brazilian humming-birds. -Quick, Klaus, mein sohn!’ - -‘He will not go, mother,’ said Madeleine, speaking for the first -time; ‘he is too conscientious.’ - -‘Conscientious!’ echoed Madame Deschwanden, covering her eyes; ‘that -I should have lived to hear the word. Madeleine! he is none of us. -He has that nasty German blood in his veins, and it has made him -conscientious. My aunt’s sister’s son married a Hungarian, and their -child was always afflicted with erysipelas. I attributed it to his -Hungarian blood, poor child! But, Klaus! conquer it, and, oh! get me -the angelic paper--that with the humming-birds, never mind that with -the tiger and the elephant; and so compromise the matter. I declare, -I declare!’ she cried, darting to the window; ‘they are casting the -furniture out of the house--tables, chairs, and breaking them! To -think of the expense! Ah! there goes a mirror. Madeleine, oh! if we -could have secured that glass. It would have filled the space above -the sideboard to perfection. If I could have seen myself in that -mirror, and called it my own, I could have died singing.’ - -Madeleine darted out of the room, and ran downstairs. Next moment her -mother and Percenez saw her in the crowd, pushing her way up to the -house with resolution and success. - -‘That is my own daughter!’ cried the enraptured lady: ‘she is in -everything worthy of me; she is, indeed! She gave me much trouble -as a child, I brought her up at my own breast, and see how she is -ready to repay me. She will bring me a thousand pretty things. Oh, -rapture! As for Klaus, I will not call him “mein sohn” any more. I -will not frame my lips to utter his Swiss jargon. Go to your saints, -boy; cut and carve away at them, and remember to your shame that you -have refused the entreaty of your mother. No, thank goodness! I am -not your mother. I should have overlaid you fifty times had you been -mine; I might have guessed what a sort of conscientious creature you -would have grown up.’ - -‘What is Klaus’s work?’ asked Percenez, to turn the subject. - -‘Work!’ repeated Madame Deschwanden, ‘why, he is a wood-carver; he -makes saints for churches, and crucifixes, and Blessed Virgins, and -all that sort of thing, you know; but it don’t pay now, there’s no -demand. Madeleine began that once, but gave it up. You can’t swim -against the tide.’ - -‘Then what is Madeleine’s work now?’ - -‘Oh! she is flower-girl at Versailles.’ - -Gabrielle looked up. ‘I am a flower-girl,’ she said, timidly. - -‘Oh, indeed!’ answered Madame Deschwanden, quickly running her -eye over her. ‘You are good-looking, you will do, only fish in a -different pool from Madeleine. But oh, ecstasy! here comes Madeleine. -What has she got?’ - -Madeleine was indeed visible pushing her way back from the factory. -She had something in her hands, but what, was not distinguishable. -In another minute she was upstairs and had deposited a beautiful -mother-of-pearl box on the table, a box of considerable size, and of -beautiful workmanship. - -‘What is in it?’ almost shrieked Madame Deschwanden. - -‘My mother, I cannot tell; it is locked, and I have not the key.’ - -Madeleine was nearly out of breath. She leaned against the table, -put her hand against her side, and panted. She looked so pretty, so -bewitching, that Percenez could hardly be angry with her, though -he knew she had done wrong. Her cheeks were flushed, her dancing -black eyes were bright with triumph, and her attitude was easy and -full of grace. She wore her hair loose, curled and falling over -her neck and shoulders. Her bodice was low, exposing throat and -bosom, both exquisitely moulded; her skirt was short, and allowed -her neat little feet and ankles to be seen in all their perfection. -Gabrielle thought she had never seen so pretty a girl. She herself -was a marked contrast to Madeleine. She was not so slender and trim -in her proportions, nor so agile in her movements; but her face was -full of simplicity, and that was the principal charm. Madeleine’s -features were not so regular as those of Gabrielle, but there was far -more animation in her face. The deep hazel eyes of the peasant-girl -were steady, the dark orbs of the Parisian flower-girl sparkled and -danced, without a moment’s constancy. A woman’s character is written -on her brow. That of Gabrielle was smooth, and spoke of purity; the -forehead of Madeleine expressed boldness and assurance. - -‘You are the joy of my life, the loadstar of my existence!’ exclaimed -the mother, embracing her daughter, and then the box, which she -covered with kisses. ‘Oh ecstasy! oh raptures! this is beautiful. -Klaus, lend me one of your tools to force the box open. Perhaps it -contains jewels! Klaus, quick!’ - -The lad placed his hand on the coffer, and said, gravely: ‘I am sorry -to spoil your pleasure, dear mother; but this mother-of-pearl box -must be returned.’ - -‘Returned!’ echoed madame with scorn,--‘returned to the mob, who are -breaking everything. I never heard such nonsense.’ - -‘Not to the mob, but to M. Réveillon.’ - -‘To M. Réveillon! what rubbish you do talk! I shall keep the box and -cherish it. Mon Dieu! would you tear it from me now that I love it, -that I adore it?’ - -‘We shall see, when my father comes,’ said Nicholas Deschwanden. ‘I -have no doubt of his decision.’ - -‘I shall kill myself,’ said Madame Deschwanden, ‘and go to heaven, -where I shall be happy, and you will not be able to rob me of all my -pretty things, and pester me with your conscientious scruples. See -if I do not! or I shall run away with a gentleman who will love me -and gratify all my little innocent whims. See if I do not! And so I -shall leave you and your father to talk your rigmaroles about Alps -and lakes and glaciers, and chant your litanies to Bruder Klaus and -Heiliger Meinrad. See if I don’t!’ - -The discharge of musketry interrupted the flow of her threats, and -the vehement little woman was next moment again at the window. - -‘Oh, how lucky!’ she exclaimed: ‘Madeleine! if you had been ten -minutes later you would have been shot. Count, Étienne; count, -Madeleine; one, two, three, four, oh how many there are down--killed, -poor things! Dear me! I would not have missed the sight for a -thousand livres. Étienne, Madeleine, you Klaus! come, look, they will -fire again. Glorious! Oh, what fun! Ecstasy! raptures!’ - -After the second discharge madame drew attention to the man who had -been shot through the heart--he with the bottle of leeches. - -‘How he leaped! He would have made his fortune on the tight-rope. -Oh! what would I not have given to have danced with him. I am certain -he was a superb dancer. Did any of you ever in your life see a male -cut such a caper? Never; it was magnificent, it was prodigious. More -the pity that he is dead. He will never dance again,’ she said, in -a low and sad voice; but brightened up instantly again with the -remark, ‘Ah well! we must all die sooner or later. Étienne, count the -dead, now that the soldiers have cleared the street and square. My -faith! what a pity it is that dead men are not made serviceable for -the table; and meat is so dear!’ Then suddenly it occurred to the -volatile lady that her brother and his little companion had come to -take up their abode with her--and meat so dear! She attacked Étienne -at once on the point. - -‘My dearest brother, whom I love above everyone--yes, whom I -adore,--I will not deny it, whom I idolize,--tell me, where are you -lodging?’ - -‘I thought you could give Gabrielle and me shelter for awhile,’ -answered Percenez. ‘I am sure Madeleine will share her bed with -Gabrielle, my little ward, and I can litter myself a mattress of -straw anywhere.’ - -‘And you have not dined yet?’ asked Madame Deschwanden. - -‘No; we have not had time to think of dinner.’ - -‘But you are hungry?’ - -‘Certainly.’ - -‘And thirsty?’ - -‘Very thirsty, I can assure you.’ - -Madame Deschwanden caught both his hands in hers, and shook them -enthusiastically. - -‘My own best-beloved brother! I talk of you all day long, do I not, -Madeleine? You, too, Klaus, can bear me witness. I am rejoiced to -hear that you are hungry and thirsty. And you like thoroughly good -dinners?’ - -‘Most assuredly, when I can get them.’ - -‘And you too?’ she looked at Gabrielle, who whispered an affirmative. - -‘And you enjoy a really good bottle of wine?’ - -‘Trust me,’ answered Stephen. - -‘Then,’ said Madame Deschwanden, hugging her brother to her heart, -‘the best of everything is yours, at the sign of the Boot, two doors -off, on the right hand, and table-d’hôte is in half an hour. Terms -very moderate.’ - -‘But, my sister!’ said the little colporteur, drawing out of her -embrace, and regarding her with a sly look, ‘I have come to take up -my residence with you.’ - -‘And dine at the Boot,’ put in the lady. ‘I can confidently recommend -the table there. It is largely patronized by the most discerning -palates.’ - -‘But, my sister, I am quite resolved to take my meals with you.’ - -‘You cannot, indeed!’ exclaimed madame; ‘my cookery is vile, it is -baser than dirt. I am an abject cook.’ - -‘Oh, Josephine, neither Gabrielle André nor I are particular.’ - -‘André!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden. ‘Do you tell me the name of -this seraph is André? Is she the daughter of Matthias André of Les -Hirondelles?’ - -‘To be sure she is.’ - -Madame now cast herself on the neck of the peasant girl, sobbed -loudly, and wept copiously. - -‘To think it is you! the daughter of Matthias, who adored me, when I -was your age. Yes, child; your father when a young man was my most -devoted admirer; but, ah, bah! every one admired me then, but he -above them all. And if I had accepted him as my husband--to think -_you_ might then have been my daughter. Poor Matthias! how is he?’ - -Percenez checked her with a look and shake of the head. - -‘Well, well! we all die, more’s the pity; and your mother--dead too! -Ah well! every sentence ends in a full stop, and so does the long -rigmarole of life. Then in pity’s sake let life be a Jubilate and not -a De Profundis.’ - -‘About meals?’ said Percenez. His sister’s countenance fell at once, -but she rapidly recovered. - -‘Exactly. You will hear all the news at the Boot. Superb place -for gossip. Oh you men, you men! you charge us women with -tittle-tattling, and when you get together--’ she wagged her finger -at him and laughed. ‘Now, be quick, Étienne! my brother, and you, my -angel, Mademoiselle André, and get your dinners over quick, and come -here and tell us the news, and we shall have a charming evening.’ - -‘My sister,’ said Percenez, ‘you must really listen to my proposal. -I may be in Paris for weeks--perhaps months. I intend to pursue -my business of selling newspapers and pamphlets here in Paris for -a while, that is, during the session of the States-General, and I -cannot think of troubling you with my presence as a guest. Will you -let us lodge with you? I will pay you so much a week for my bed and -board, and Gabrielle shall do the same. She has a mission to perform -in Paris, and though I am not sanguine of her success, nevertheless -she must make an attempt. She can join Madeleine in selling flowers, -and I will guarantee that you are no loser.’ - -‘My own most cherished brother!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden; ‘do -not think me so mercenary as all that. Gladly do I urge you to stay -here, and join us at our frugal table. You are welcome to every scrap -of food in the larder, and to every bed in the house. Far be it from -me to be mercenary. I hate the word--I scorn to be thought it. _I_ -care for money! No one has as yet hinted such a thing to me! No; you -are welcome--welcome to a sister’s hospitality. The terms, by the -way, you did not mention,’ she said, in a lower voice; ‘we have taken -in boarders at----’ - -She was interrupted by the entrance of Corporal Deschwanden, her -husband, a tall, grave soldier, with a face as corrugated and brown -as that of Percenez; his moustaches and the hair of the head were -iron grey, his eyes large and blue, like his son’s, and lighted with -the same expression of frank simplicity. - -The corporal saluted Percenez and Gabrielle, as his wife introduced -them with many flourishes of the arms and flowers of eloquence. - -‘You are heartily welcome, sir,’ said the soldier in broken French; -‘and you, fraulein, the same.’ - -Then seating himself at the table he rapped the board with his -knuckles and said, ‘Dinner!’ - -Madame Deschwanden and her daughter speedily served a cold repast in -the lower room, the mother making many apologies for having nothing -hot to offer, as she had been distracted by the Réveillon riot, -and now her head was racked with pain, and she prayed Heaven would -speedily terminate her sufferings with death. - -The old soldier during the meal looked over several times at -Gabrielle in a kindly manner, and treated her with courtesy. The girl -raised her timid eyes to his, and saw them beaming with benevolence. -A frightened smile fluttered to her lips, and he smiled back at her. - -‘You have come a long way,’ he said; ‘and you must be tired, poor -child! Ah! if you had our mountains to climb’--he looked at his son -Nicholas--‘they would tire your little feet. Do you remember the -scramble we had up the Rhigi, Klaus? And the lake--the deep blue -lake--Ach es war herrlich! And the clouds brushing across the silver -Roth and Engelberger hörner.’ The old man rose, brushed up his hair -on either side of his ears; his blue eyes flashed, and he sat down -again. - -‘Now this is against all rule,’ said Madame Deschwanden; ‘here we are -back at that pottering little Switzerland, and the mountains, and the -lake, before dinner is over; we shall have the glaciers next, and the -chamois, and the cowbells, and the gentians, and of course wind up -with the Bruder Klaus.’ - -‘Relaxation,’ said the soldier, rapping the table with his knuckles, -after consulting his watch. ‘Meal-time up; relaxation begins.’ - -‘Then you are going to have the lakes and the cowbells and the Bruder -Klaus!’ said Madame Deschwanden. - -‘It is their time,’ answered the corporal. - -‘Then Madeleine and I are off.’ - -‘I will rap for prayers,’ said the corporal. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - -Madeleine and her mother retired to the window, and beckoned -Gabrielle to join them. - -The corporal and the colporteur lit their pipes, and Klaus with his -knife began to cut a head out of a bit of box-wood he extracted from -his pocket. - -‘So, Master Percenez, you have come to witness the great struggle?’ -said the soldier, fixing his blue eyes on the little man. - -‘Yes, corporal, I have. I am interested in it,--but who is not? It -seems to me that we must fight now, or give in for ever.’ - -‘A fight there will be,’ said the soldier; ‘a fight of tongues and -hard words. Tongues for swords, hard words for bullets. Did you -ever hear how we managed to gain our liberty in my country? I tell -you that was not with speeches, but with blows. I doubt if your -States-General will do much. I do not think much of talking, I like -action.’ - -‘And are you free in Switzerland?’ asked Percenez. - -‘Yes,’ answered Deschwanden, ‘we are free. We gained our liberty -by our swords. Our brave land was subject to the despotic rule of -the Duke of Austria, and we were reduced to much the same condition -as you French are now. We paid taxes which were exorbitant, we were -crushed by the privileged classes, and robbed of the just reward of -our toil. Then Arnold of Melchthal, Werner Stauffacher, and Walter -Fürst formed the resolution to resist, and lead the people to revolt, -and so they threw off the yoke and became free.’ - -‘Father,’ said Nicholas, ‘do you remember the inn of the Confederates -on the lake, with their figures painted on the white wall, five times -the size of life?’ - -‘Ah so!’ exclaimed the corporal; ‘have I not drunk on the balcony -of that same inn over against Grütli? Have I not seen the three -fountains that bubbled up where the Confederates stood and joined -hands and swore to liberate their country from the oppression of -their Austrian governors, to be faithful to each other, and to be -righteous in executing their judgments on the tyrants?’ - -The old man brushed up the hair on either side of his head, rose to -his feet, filled his tumbler with wine, and waving it above his head, -exclaimed joyously: - -‘Here is to the memory of Arnold of Melchthal, Werner Stauffacher, -and Walter Fürst!’ - -Percenez and young Nicholas drank, standing. - -‘Did you ever hear,’ continued the soldier, reseating himself, ‘how -William Tell refused to bow to the ducal cap set up on a pole, the -badge of servitude, and how the governor--his name was Gessler--bade -the valiant archer shoot an apple off his son’s head?’ - -‘I have heard the story,’ said the colporteur. - -‘And I have seen the place,’ cried Nicholas; ‘have I not, father?’ - -‘We have both seen the very spot where the glorious William stood, -and where grew the tree against which the lad was placed. The square -is no more. Houses have invaded it, so that now Tell could not send -an arrow from his standing-point to the site of the tree. Ah! he -was a great liberator of his country, was Tell. Fill your glasses, -friends! To William Tell!’ He rubbed up his hair, rose to his feet, -and drained his glass again. - -‘Have you ever heard how nearly Swiss freedom was lost, by -treachery and gold? You must know that the Confederate States had -vanquished Charles of Burgundy in three great battles, and had -pillaged his camp, which was so full of booty that gold circulated -among the people like copper. The cantons of Uri, of Schwytz, and -Unterwalden--that latter is mine--desired peace, and those of -Lucerne, and Berne, and Zurich desired to extend the Confederacy; -so great quarrels arose, and soon that union which was the source -of their strength promised to be dissolved, and civil war to break -out, and ruin Swiss independence. The Confederates were assembled for -consultation, for the last time, at Stanz. The animosity of party, -however, was so great, that after three sessions of angry debates, -the members rose with agitated countenances, and separated without -taking leave of one another, to meet again, perhaps, only in the -conflict of civil war. That which neither the power of Austria, nor -the audacious might of Charles of Burgundy, had ever been able to -accomplish, my people were themselves in danger of bringing about by -these internal dissensions; and the liberty and happiness of their -country stood in the most imminent peril.’ - -‘My faith!’ cried Madame Deschwanden, shrugging her shoulders, and -throwing into her face, as she sat in the window, an expression of -disgust and contempt, ‘they are getting upon the Bruder Klaus.’ - -‘Yes, wife,’ said the soldier, turning to her, and brushing up his -hair, ‘glorious Bruder Klaus! Here’s to his---- but no, you shall -hear the story first. So! up the face of a precipice in the Melchthal -lived a hermit, Nicholas von der Flue. And here I may add that our -captain is called by the same name. Well, then, this hermit, whom -we call Brother Nicholas, or, for short, Brother Klaus, left his -cell at the moment of danger, and sending a messenger before him to -bid the deputies await his arrival, he walked all the way to Stanz -without resting, and entered the town-hall, where the assembly -sat. He wore his simple dark-coloured dress, which descended to his -feet; he carried his chaplet in one hand, and grasped his staff in -the other; he was, as usual, barefoot and bare-headed; and his long -hair, a little touched by the snows of age, fell upon his shoulders. -When the delegates saw him enter, they rose out of respect, and God -gave him such grace that his words restored unanimity, and in an hour -all difficulties were smoothed away; the land was preserved from -civil war, and from falling again,--as in that case it must have -fallen,--under the power of Burgundy or Austria.’ - -‘I have seen the very coat Bruder Klaus wore,’ said Nicholas, his -large blue eyes full of pride and joy. - -‘Yes,’ said the soldier, triumphantly; ‘we have both seen his habit; -we have seen his body, too, at Sachseln. Fill your glasses!’ he -rubbed up his hair, first over his ears and then above his forehead -and at the back of the head, and starting to his feet, pledged Bruder -Klaus of pious memory. Percenez and Nicholas joined enthusiastically. - -‘See!’ said the latter, taking his black ribbon from his neck, and -extending the medal to Percenez; ‘on that coin is a representation of -the blessed hermit; that piece has been laid on his shrine, and has -been blessed by the priest of Sachseln.’ - -‘Fetch him the statue of the glorious brother!’ cried the corporal -to his son; ‘let him see what blessed Nicholas really was like.’ - -The lad instantly dived out of the room, down a passage, and -presently reappeared with a wooden figure of the hermit, carved by -himself. The face was exquisitely wrought, and the hands delicately -finished. The whole was painted, but not coarsely. - -‘He was very pale in the face, almost deadly white, and dark about -the eyes,’ said the soldier. ‘We have his portrait, taken during his -life, in the town-hall of Sarnen----’ all at once the corporal’s -eyes rested on his watch. - -‘Herr Je!’ he exclaimed; ‘we have exceeded our time by three -minutes.’ He rapped with his knuckles on the table, and shouted the -order: - -‘Music!’ - -Instantly his son Nicholas produced a flute, and warbled on it a -well-known Swiss air. The corporal folded his hands on his breast, -threw back his head, fixed his eyes on the scrap of blue sky visible -above the roofs of the houses opposite, and began to sing, ‘Herz, -mein Herz warum so traurig’--of which we venture to give an English -rendering: - - ‘Heart, my heart! why art thou weary, - Why to grief and tears a prey? - Foreign lands are bright and cheery; - Heart, my heart, what ails thee, say? - - ‘That which ails me past appeasing! - I am lost, a stranger here; - What though foreign lands be pleasing, - Home, sweet home, alone is dear. - - ‘Were I now to home returning, - Oh, how swiftly would I fly! - Home to father, home to mother, - Home to native rocks and sky! - - ‘Through the fragrant pine-boughs bending - I should see the glacier shine, - See the nimble goats ascending - Gentian-dappled slopes in line; - - ‘See the cattle, hear the tinkle - Of the merry clashing bells, - See white sheep the pastures sprinkle - In the verdant dewy dells. - - ‘I should climb the rugged gorges - To the azure Alpine lake, - Where the snowy peak discharges - Torrents, that the silence break. - - ‘I should see the old brown houses, - At the doors, in every place, - Neighbours sitting, children playing, - Greetings in each honest face. - - ‘Oh my youth! to thee returning, - Oft I ask, why did I roam? - Oh my heart! my heart is burning - At the memory of Home. - - ‘Heart, my heart! in weary sadness - Breaking, far from fatherland, - Restless, yearning, void of gladness, - Till once more at home I stand.’ - -As the old man sang, the tears filled his large eyes, and slowly -trickled down his weather-beaten cheeks. He sat for some while in -silence and motionless, absorbed in memory. Now and then a smile -played over his rugged features. - -‘I remember walking from Beckenreid to Seelisberg one spring -evening,’ he said, speaking to himself; ‘the rocks were covered with -wild pinks. We never see wild pinks here. And the thyme was fragrant, -multitudes of bees swarmed humming about it. I remember, because, -when tired, I sat on the thyme, and listened to their buzz. Down -below lay the deep blue green lake reflecting the mountains, still -as glass. The bell of Gersau was chiming. The red roofs were so -pretty under the brown rocks of the Scheideck and Hochflue. A little -farther on, upon a mass of fallen rock in the water, in the midst of -a feathery tuft of birch, stood the chapel of Kindlismord.’ He paused -and smiled, and then a great tear dropped from his cheek to his -breast. ‘I saw a foaming torrent rush through the forest and dart -over a ledge and disappear. The golden clouds overhead were reflected -in the lake. I picked a bunch of blue salvias and a tiger-lily.’ He -drew a heavy sigh, brushed his hair down with his hands, shook his -head, looked at his watch, and rapped the table with the order: - -‘Prayers!’ - -Immediately all rose, and the old soldier led the way down the -passage into Klaus’s workshop. - -Klaus, as has already been said, carved statues for churches. His -room was full of figures, some finished and coloured, others half -done; some only sketched out of the block. On a shelf stood a row of -little saints; but the majority were from three to five feet high. -In the corner was a huge S. Christopher, carrying the infant Saviour -on his shoulder, and leaning on a rugged staff. His work-table was -strewn with tools and shavings and chips of wood, and the floor was -encumbered with blocks of oak and box, wood shavings and sawdust. In -a niche in the side of the room, on a pedestal, stood a life-sized -figure of the Swiss hermit, the patron saint of the Deschwandens, -with a pendent lamp before it. A crucifix of ebony and boxwood stood -before the little window which lighted the room, and was situated -immediately above his work-table. The corporal knelt down, followed -by his family and the guests, and recited the usual evening prayers -in a firm voice, ending with the Litany of the Saints. - -After the last response, the corporal made a pause, and rapped with -his knuckles against the bench in front of him, whereupon Madame -Deschwanden rose with a sniff and a great rustle of her garments, and -sailed out of the room, leaning on Madeleine. - -‘You had better come, too,’ she said to Percenez and Gabrielle; ‘that -father and son there have not done yet. They have their blessed Swiss -saints to invoke in their barbarous jargon. But, as I do not approve -either of their tongue or of their Klauses and Meinrads, Madeleine -and I always leave them to themselves.’ - -The colporteur and his little ward rose, but not without hesitation, -for the corporal and his son remained kneeling as stiff as any of the -wooden figures surrounding them, with hands joined and eyes directed -immediately in front of them. - -‘Oh my faith!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, as she reached the -sitting-room; ‘to think that I have been reduced to this,--to become -the spouse of a clockwork-man made of wood. Heavens! Étienne, the -corporal does everything to the minute; dresses, washes, eats, prays, -dreams of his precious Schweizerland, all by the watch, and I--poor -I--I am in despair. This does not suit me at all.’ - -Percenez attempted to console his sister, and she rattled on with -her story of grievance, whilst Gabrielle, musing and not speaking, -heard the solemn voice of the old soldier sounding from the workshop: - -‘Heiliger Meinrad!’ - -And Nicholas’s response: ‘Bitte für uns[2].’ - -‘Heiliger Gallus!’ - -‘Bitte für uns.’ - -‘Heiliger Beatus!’ - -‘Bitte für uns.’ - -‘Heiliger Moritz und deine Gefährte!’ - -‘Bittet für uns.’ - -‘Heiliger Bonifacius!’ - -‘Bitte für uns.’ - -‘Heilige Verena!’ - -‘Bitte für uns.’ - -‘Heiliger Bruder Klaus!’ - -‘Bitte für uns.’ - -Shortly after, the corporal and his son returned to the room. -Gabrielle was sitting by herself in the dusk near the door--in fact, -in that corner of the sofa into which Madame Deschwanden had driven -Nicholas, when she wanted the paper with roses and jessamine and -Brazilian humming-birds. - -The young man walked towards her somewhat awkwardly, and leaning on -the arm of the sofa with his back to the window, said: - -‘You must be puzzled at our relationship in this house.’ - -‘I do not quite understand the relationship, I own,’ answered -Gabrielle, shyly. - -‘I am not the son of madame,’ said he, nodding his head in the -direction of Percenez’s sister, ‘nor is Madeleine my own sister. My -father married again, after my mother’s death, and Madame Chabry was -a widow with an only daughter. Do you understand now?’ - -‘Yes, thank you.’ - -‘I should like to hear your opinion about the box,’ he continued. ‘Do -you think we have any right to keep it? Mamma is set upon it, so is -Madeleine, but the question is, have they any right to it?’ - -Gabrielle looked at her shawl, and plucked at the fringe. - -‘You do not like to answer,’ said Klaus. - -‘I think the box ought to be returned,’ she said, timidly, and in a -low, faltering voice. - -A smile beamed on the lad’s broad face. He nodded at her in a -friendly, approving manner, and said, ‘So my father says. I consulted -him in the other room. And now the difficulty is to get the box away. -Observe my father.’ - -Gabrielle looked towards the corporal; he was standing near the -window, with his back to the table on which the mother-of-pearl -coffer lay, and was engaged in animated conversation with Percenez, -Madame, and Madeleine. Gabrielle observed that the old soldier made -a point of addressing his wife and daughter-in-law in turn, and then -directing an observation to Percenez. From sentences she caught, -the girl ascertained that the corporal was attacking the French -character, and was especially caustic on the subject of French women. -His wife was at once in a blaze, and Madeleine caught fire. Percenez -took up cudgels on behalf of his countrywomen, but the soldier was -not to be beaten by the three combined. As soon as the conversation -or argument gave symptoms of flagging, he produced from his armoury -some peculiarly pungent remark, which he cast as a bomb-shell among -them, and which at once aroused a clatter of tongues. - -‘There’s a story told in my country of a man who married a -Frenchwoman,’ said the soldier, fixing his wife with his eye. - -‘I will not listen to your stories,’ said Madame Deschwanden; ‘they -are bad, wicked tales. Stop your ears, Percenez, as I stop mine. -Madeleine, don’t listen to him. A Frenchman uses his tongue like a -feather, but a German or Swiss knocks you down with it like a club.’ - -‘There is a story in my country,’ pursued the corporal, turning -composedly towards the colporteur, ‘of a Swiss farmer who married a -French mademoiselle.’ - -‘Ah! I pity her, poor thing, I do,’ said Madame Deschwanden, -suddenly removing her hand from her ear and fluttering it in her -husband’s face; ‘she doubtless thought him flesh and blood, and only -too late found him out to be a Jacquemart--a wooden doll worked by -springs.’ - -‘So!’ continued the soldier, calmly, ‘the man died----’ - -‘Of dry rot,’ interpolated madame; ‘there was a maggot in his head.’ - -‘He died,’ the soldier pursued; ‘and then, having left the earth, he -presented himself at the gates of Paradise.’ - -‘Ah!’ exclaimed madame; ‘and he found that it was peopled with Bruder -Klauses--like the wooden saints your boy carves.’ - -‘Now you know, Percenez, my good friend, that there is a preliminary -stage souls have to pass through before they can enter the realm of -the blessed; that stage is called purgatory. So! S. Peter opened -the door to the Swiss Bauer and said, “You cannot come in. You have -not been in purgatory!” “No,” answered the farmer, “but I have -spent ten years married to a French wife.” “Then step in,” said the -door-keeper, “you have endured purgatory in life.”’ - -‘I will not listen to you,’ screamed Madame Deschwanden, resolutely -facing the window and presenting her back to her husband. - -Madeleine followed suit, and was immediately engrossed in what was -taking place in the street. - -‘You Frenchwomen!’ called the corporal, tauntingly, as he stepped -backwards with his hands behind him. The mother and daughter turned -abruptly, and facing him exclaimed together, ‘We glory in the title;’ -then reverted to their contemplation of the street. - -‘Now,’ said Nicholas, in a low voice, ‘observe my father attentively; -he is a skilful general.’ - -Corporal Deschwanden retreated leisurely backwards, as though -retiring from the presence of royalty, till he reached the table, -when his hands felt for the casket, and took it up; then, still -fronting the window and the women at it, he sidled towards the door, -keeping the mother-of-pearl box carefully out of sight. - -Having reached the door, he asked Percenez if he would accompany him -for a stroll. The colporteur gladly consented, and followed him out -of the room. - -The mother and daughter still maintained their position at the open -window, till suddenly the former threw up her hands with a cry of -dismay, sprang abruptly into the middle of the room, and shrieked -out, ‘I am betrayed! the thief! the rogue! the malicious one! He -has carried off the mother-of-pearl box. I saw it under his arm. -He showed it to Étienne, and laughed as he crossed the street. -Madeleine! what shall we do? We will take poison, and die in one -another’s arms!’ Then, after a volley of shrieks, she fell on her -daughter’s neck and deluged her with tears. - -‘I think that was a skilfully-executed manœuvre of my father’s,’ said -Nicholas, aside. - -Gabrielle smiled; but then, observing how distressed was her hostess, -she said, in a low voice, ‘I am afraid your mother is heart-broken -over her loss.’ - -‘Yes, for half an hour, and then she will have forgotten all about -it. You will see, when my father returns, it will be with a locket, -or a brooch, or a ribbon, and then she will be all “ecstasy and -raptures,” and will kiss him on both cheeks, and pronounce him the -best of husbands.’ - -Gabrielle looked up into his face with an expression of delight in -her eyes and on her lips. - -The young man’s eyes rested on her countenance with pleasure. After a -moment’s hesitation, he said: - -‘Mademoiselle Gabrielle, may I ask you one little favour? I know I -have not deserved it by anything I have done, but you will confer a -debt of gratitude on my father and on me if you will accede to my -request.’ - -‘What is it?’ asked the girl, opening her eyes very wide, and -wondering very greatly what he meant. - -‘Will you promise me not to take part with my mother and Madeleine -against the Swiss? My father laughs, and I laugh, but what they say -cuts us,--sometimes deeply. We are proud of our country;’ he brushed -his hair from his brow and straightened himself, his attitude and -action a reproduction of his father. ‘We have reason to be proud of -it, and we do not like to be joked about it, and to hear slurs cast -on it. Oh! Mademoiselle Gabrielle, I do not know why I ask this of -you, but I should feel it dreadfully if you joined them against us, -and so, too, would my father.’ - -‘I promise with all my heart.’ - -‘That is delightful!’ exclaimed Nicholas, clapping his hands, whilst -a joyous flush overspread his open countenance; ‘and then, there -is something more.’ His face grew solemn at once. ‘Do not speak -against, or make a joke about, Bruder Klaus. You do not know what a -man that was, what a saint he is, what he did for his country, what -a miraculous life he led, what wonders are wrought yet at his tomb. -You should have seen his portrait--the grave white face, and the -eyes reddened with weeping, and the sunken cheeks! Oh, Mademoiselle -Gabrielle, you may be sure that, among the greatest of saints, our -Bruder Klaus----’ - -‘What!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, looking up from her daughter’s -shoulder, as she caught the word; ‘if that boy is not dinning Bruder -Klaus into Mademoiselle André’s ear already. Was ever a woman so -overwhelmed, so haunted as I am with these ragged old Swiss hermits? -I have the nightmare, and dream that Bruder Klaus is dancing on my -breast. I look out of the window in the dark, and see Bruder Klaus -jabbering in the gloom, and pointing at me with his stick. I wish -to goodness the precious Bruder had committed a mortal sin, and his -sanctity had gone to the dogs, I do!’ - -Nicholas drew nearer to Gabrielle, as though shrinking from his -stepmother’s expressions as impious, and willing to screen the girl -from their pernicious influence. He stooped towards her, with his -great blue eyes fastened on her with intensity of earnestness, as he -whispered: - -‘You will promise me that? Oh! please do, dear mademoiselle!’ - -‘Certainly I will,’ answered Gabrielle, frankly looking at him. - -He caught her hand and kissed it, and then precipitately left the -room. - - - END OF VOL. I. - - - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[1] The window is described from one existing in the north aisle of -the church of S. Foy, at Conches, the stained glass in which church -is perhaps the finest in Normandy. - -[2] Holy Meinrad, &c. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<table style='min-width:0; padding:0; margin-left:0; border-collapse:collapse'> - <tr><td>Title:</td><td>In Exitu Israel, Volume 1 (of 2)</td></tr> - <tr><td></td><td>An Historical Novel</td></tr> -</table> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Sabine Baring-Gould</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 30, 2021 [eBook #64964]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Edwards, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN EXITU ISRAEL, VOLUME 1 (OF 2) ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp56" id="cover" style="max-width: 46.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<h1 class="pg-brk p10 pb10">IN EXITU ISRAEL.</h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="figcenter illowp73" id="frontis" style="max-width: 12.1875em;"> - <img class="w100 pg-brk p10 pb10" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p class="pfs180 p2 lsp2 pg-brk">IN EXITU ISRAEL</p> - -<p class="pfs100 p3"><em>AN HISTORICAL NOVEL</em></p> - -<p class="pfs80 p4">BY</p> - -<p class="pfs120">S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.</p> - -<p class="pfs80">Author of ‘<em>Curious Myths of the Middle Ages</em>,’<br /> -‘<em>Origin and Development of Religious Belief</em>,’ ‘<em>The Silver Store</em>,’ <em>&c.</em>, <em>&c.</em></p> - -<p class="pfs120 p4">VOL. I</p> - -<p class="pfs100 p4"><span class="gothic">London</span><br /> -MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> -1870 -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p class="pfs100 lsp2 p8 pg-brk">OXFORD:</p> - -<p class="pfs80">BY T. COMBE, M.A., E. B. GARDNER, E. P. HALL, AND H. LATHAM, M.A.,</p> - -<p class="pfs80 pb8">PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p class="pfs90 lsp p8 pg-brk">DEDICATED</p> - -<p class="pfs60 p2">TO</p> - -<p class="pfs80 p2">THE MEMORY OF THE LATE</p> - -<p class="pfs100 p2">COUNT CHARLES DE MONTALEMBERT</p> - -<p class="pfs60 p2">BY</p> - -<p class="pfs80 p2 pb8">ONE WHO, FROM A DISTANCE, HAS LOVED AND ADMIRED HIS LIFE,<br /> -HIS PRINCIPLES, AND HIS WRITINGS.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table class="autotable fs90" width="85%" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr">Page</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">PREFACE.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_vii">vii</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER I.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER II.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER III.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER IV.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER V.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER VI.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER VII.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER VIII.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER IX.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER X.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XI.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XII.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XIII.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XIV.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XV.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XVI.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XVII.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XVIII.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XIX.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CHAPTER XX.</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE">PREFACE.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is a side to the History of the French -Revolution which is too generally overlooked—its -ecclesiastical side.</p> - -<p>Under the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ancien régime</i>, the disadvantages -of an Establishment produced a strong party of -liberal Catholics prepared for a radical change -in the relations between Church and State.</p> - -<p>It was this party which organized that remarkable -Constitutional Church, at once Republican -and Catholic, which sustained Religion through -the Reign of Terror, and which Pope Pius VII -and Napoleon I combined to overthrow.</p> - -<p>My object in writing this story is to illustrate -the currents of feeling in the State and Church -of France in 1789, currents not altogether unlike -those now circulating in our own. It was my -good fortune, during a recent visit to Normandy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span> -to collect materials for a history of a representative -character of that eventful period,—one -Thomas Lindet, parish priest of Bernay. In -writing his story, I do not present him to the -reader as a model. He had great faults; but -one can forgive much on account of his enthusiastic -love of justice, and faith in his cause.</p> - -<p>That my story may be taken to convey a -moral, is possible. But let me disclaim any intention -of preaching a lesson to the aristocracy; -I believe that they do not need it. In France, -the crown supported the nobility; in England, -the nobility support the crown. The French -aristocracy was a privileged class, exempt from -the burden of taxation. In England, the heaviest -burden falls on the holders of landed -property. With us, the privileged class is that -of the manufacturer and trader. The French -nobility never made common cause with the -people against the encroachments of the royal -prerogative. The English barons wrung Magna -Charta from reluctant John. Henry VIII would -never have been able to consolidate the power in -his despotic hands, had not the civil wars of the -Roses broken the strength of the aristocracy.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span> -Since then the nobility have made the cause -of right and liberty their own, and a limited -monarchy is the result.</p> - -<p>The moral, if moral there must be, is this: -In times when the relations between Church -and State are precarious, coercive measures are -certain to force on a rupture.</p> - -<p>Of late, repression has been employed freely -on a portion of the community, and this has -suddenly created a liberation party which three -years ago scarcely existed within the Church -and the ranks of the clergy.</p> - -<p>The English curate is as much at the mercy -of the Bishop as was, and is still, the French -curé; and this he has been made painfully -aware of.</p> - -<p>In the Wesleyan revival, a body of earnest -men who moved for a relaxation of the icy -bonds of Establishmentarianism were thrust forth -into schism. The first Tractarians were driven -to Rome by the hardness of their spiritual rulers. -At present, a party, peculiarly narrow, and -rapidly dying, by means of a packed Privy -Council, are engaged in hunting out and repressing -the most active section of the Church.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span></p> - -<p>Worship is the language of conviction. To a -large and rapidly increasing body of Anglicans, -Christ is not, as He is to Protestants, a mere -historical personage, the founder of Christianity, -but is the centre of a religious system, the ever-present -object of adoration for His people. A -passionate love of Christ has floreated into -splendour of worship. To curtail liberty of -worship is to touch the rights of conscience; -and to interfere with them has ever led to -disastrous consequences—such is the verdict of -History.</p> - -<p>A feverish eagerness to dissever Church and -State has broken out among clergy and laity, -and a schism would be the result, were the chain -uniting Church and State indissoluble; but, as -events of late years have made it clear, that with -a little concerted energy the old rust-eaten links -can be snapped, there will be no schism, but a -united effort will be made by a body of resolute -spirits within the Church to tear asunder crown -and mitre. The disestablishment of the English -Church will present a future absent from that of -the Irish Church. In the latter case, there was -an unanimous opposition to the measure by all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span> -within it; but, in the event of the severance of -the union in England, it will take place amid -the joyous acclamations of no inconsiderable -section of its best and truest sons.</p> - -<p>If, from the following pages, it appears that -my sympathies are with the National Assembly, -and those who upset the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ancien régime</i>, it does -not follow that they are with the Revolution in -its excesses. The true principles of the Revolution -are embodied in the famous Declaration -of the Rights of Man. ‘Write at the head of -that Declaration the name of God’ said Grégoire; -‘or you establish rights without duties, which is -but another thing for proclaiming force to be -supreme.’ The Assembly refused. Grégoire -was right.</p> - -<p>Robespierre, Danton, and his clique made force -supreme—as supreme as in the days of the -Monarchy, and trampled on the rights, to protect -which they had been raised into power.</p> - -<p>A Republic is one thing: the despotism of -an Autocracy or of a Democracy is another -thing.</p> - -<p>I propose following up this historical romance -by a life of the Abbé Grégoire, which will illustrate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[xii]</span> -the position of the Constitutional Church, -of which he was the soul.</p> - -<p>I have chosen the form of fiction for this -sketch, as it best enables me to exhibit the state -of feeling in France in 1788 and 1789. That is no -fiction; the incidents related and the characters -introduced are, for the most part, true to History.</p> - -<p class="right">S. B-G.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dalton, Thirsk</span>,<br /> -<span class="pad2"><em>March 25th,</em> 1870.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p> - -<p class="pfs150 p4 lsp2">IN EXITU ISRAEL.</p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> forests that at the present day cover such a considerable -portion of the department of Eure, and which supply the great -manufacturing cities on the Seine with fuel, were of much -greater extent in the eighteenth century. The fragments of -forest which now extend from Montfort to Breteuil were then -united, and stretched in one almost unbroken green zone from -the Seine to the Arve, following the course of the little river -Rille. A spur struck off at Serquigny, and traced the confluent -Charentonne upwards as far as Broglie.</p> - -<p>The little town of Bernay is no longer hemmed in by woods. -The heights and the valley of the Charentonne are still well -timbered, and green with copse and grove; the landscape is -park-like; here and there a fine old oak with rugged bark and -expanded arms proclaims itself a relic of the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ancien régime</i>; -but the upstart poplars whitening in the wind along the river -course spire above these venerable trees. The roads lie between -wheat and potato fields, and the names of hamlets, such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> -as Bosc, Le Taillis, Le Buisson, Bocage, La Couture, &c., alone -proclaim that once they lay embedded in forest foliage.</p> - -<p>On the eve of the Great French Revolution, Bernay was a -manufacturing town, that had gradually sprung up during the -middle ages, around the walls of the great Benedictine Abbey -which the Duchess Judith of Brittany had founded in 1013, -and endowed with nearly all the surrounding forest. The town -was unhealthy. It lay in a hollow, and the monks had -dammed up the little stream Cogney, which there met the -Charentonne, to turn their mill wheel, and had converted a -portion of the valley into a marsh, in which the frogs croaked -loudly and incessantly.</p> - -<p>When the abbot was resident, the townsfolk were required to -beat the rushes and silence the noisy reptiles every summer -night; but now that the Superior resided at Dax, this requirement -was not pressed.</p> - -<p>After a heavy downfall of rain, the rivulet was wanting to swell -into a torrent, overflow the dam, and flood the streets of -Bernay, carrying with it such an amount of peat that every -house into which the water penetrated was left, after its retreat, -plastered with black soil, and, in spring, smeared with frog-spawn.</p> - -<p>The mill was privileged. No other was permitted in the -neighborhood. When M. Chauvin erected a windmill on the -hill of Bouffey, the monks brought an action against him, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> -made him dismantle it. All the corn that grew within five -miles was ground at the Abbey mill, and every tenth bag was -taken by the Fathers in payment for grinding the corn indifferently -and at their leisure. At certain seasons, more wheat was -brought to the mill than the mill could grind, because the water -had run short, or the stones were out of repair, consequently -many thousands of hungry people had to wait in patience till -the Cogney filled, or till the mill-stones had been re-picked, -whilst the gutted windmill of M. Chauvin stood in compulsory -inaction.</p> - -<p>The great and little tithes of Bernay went to the Abbey; and -out of them the monks defrayed the expense of a curate for -the parish church of S. Cross. This church had been built by -the town in 1372, by permission of the Abbey, on condition -that the parish should bear the charge of its erection, and the -abbot should appoint the curate; that the parish should be -responsible for the repair of the fabric and the conduct of -divine service, and that the Abbey should pay to the incumbent -the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portion congrue</i> of the tithes. The incumbent of Bernay -was, throughout the middle ages and down to the suppression -of the monastery, a salaried curate only, without independent -position, and receiving from the Abbey a sum which amounts -in modern English money to about fifty pounds, and out of -this he was required to pay at least two curates or <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">vicaires</i>. -This sorry pittance would have been miserable enough, had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> -the curé been provided with a parsonage-house rent free; but -with this the Abbey did not furnish him, and he was obliged -to lodge where he could, and live as best he could on the -crumbs that fell from the abbot’s table.</p> - -<p>The parishioners of Bernay had made several attempts to -free their church from its dependence, but in vain. The monks -refused to cede their rights, and every lawsuit in which the -town engaged with them terminated disastrously for the -citizens. The people of Bernay were severely taxed. Beside -the intolerable burdens imposed on them by the State, they -paid tithes on all they possessed to the monks, who assessed -them as they thought proper, and against whose assessment -there was no appeal, as the abbot of Bernay exercised legal -jurisdiction in the place, and every question affecting ecclesiastical -dues was heard in his own court. The corn was -tithed in the field, and tithed again at the mill. The Abbey -had rights of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">corvée</i>, that is, of claiming so many days’ -work from every man in the place, and on its farms, free of -expense. The townsfolk, who were above the rank of day -labourers, escaped the humiliation only by paying men out -of their own pockets, to take their places and work for the -Fathers.</p> - -<p>It was hard for the citizens, after having been thus taxed by -the Church, to have to expend additional money to provide -themselves with religious privileges. Bernay might have been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> -a far more prosperous town but for the Abbey, which, like -a huge tumour, ate up the strength and resources of the place, -and gave nothing in return.</p> - -<p>The Abbey was also <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en commende</i>; in other words, it was a -donative of the Crown. Whom he would, the king made -superior of the monks of S. Benedict at Bernay,—superior -only in name, and for the purpose of drawing its revenues, -for he was not a monk, nor indeed was he in other than minor -orders. Louis XV, whose eye for beauty was satisfied with -a Du Barry, having been fascinated by the plump charms of -Madame Poudens, wife of a rich jeweler at Versailles, attempted -to seduce her. The lady estimated her virtue at a -rich abbey, and finally parted with it for that of Bernay, which -was made over <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">in commendam</i> to a son, whether by Poudens -or Louis was not clearly known, but who, at the age of seven, -in defiance of the concordat of Francis I with the Pope, was -made abbé of Bernay, father superior of Benedictine monks, -and entitled to draw an income of fifty-seven thousand livres -per annum, left by Duchess Judith to God and the poor. The -case was by no means uncommon, Charles of Valois, bastard -of Charles IX and Marie Fouchet, at the age of thirteen was -invested with the revenues of Chaise-Dieu, and Henry IV -bartered an abbey for a mistress.</p> - -<p>Thomas Lindet was curé of S. Cross.</p> - -<p>The introduction of the power loom from England had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -produced much want and discontent in Normandy, and in -Bernay many hands were thrown out of work. The sickness -and famine which had periodically afflicted that town of late -years became permanent, and the poor priest was condemned -to minister in the presence of want and disease, without the -power of alleviating either, whilst the revenues of the Church -were drained to fill the purse of the non-resident abbé, and -by him to be squandered on luxuries and vanities.</p> - -<p>Lindet had more than once expressed his opinion upon the -abuses regnant in the Church. In 1781, in a discourse addressed -by him to the general assembly of his parish, he had -said:—‘We desire that justice should be brought to bear upon -these abuses, which outrage common sense and common right, -at once. But is there any hope in the future of an accomplishment -of our desires? At present, all is dark; but never -let us despair. We groan under oppression. But be sure -of this,—wrong-doing revenges itself in the long run. We -wish to abolish the intolerable privileges which burden some, -that others may trip lightly through life. Alas! the privileged -classes are jealous of our jealousy of them. They scarce -permit us to pray the advent of a rectification of abuses, which -will prove as glorious to religion as it will prove beneficial -to society. Who will put salt upon the leeches, and make -them disgorge the blood of the poor?’</p> - -<p>For having used this language the curé had been severely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -reprimanded by his bishop; for bishops were then, as they -are frequently now, the champions of abuses.</p> - -<p>At the present date, Lindet was again in trouble with his -diocesan. For three days in succession the sanctuary lamp -in his church had remained unlighted. The reason was, that -the curé’s cruse of oil was empty; and not the cruse only, -but his purse as well. He had neither oil by him, nor money -wherewith to buy any; the lamp therefore remained dark. -Lindet hoped that some of his parishioners would come forward, -and furnish the sacramental light with a supply of oil, -and this eventually took place; but, in the meantime, three -days and nights of violation of the rubric had elapsed. The -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officiel</i> or inquisitor of the bishop heard of this, and called on -Thomas Lindet, the day before the opening of this tale, to -inform him that it was at his option to pay down twenty-five -livres for the misdemeanour, or to be thrown into the ecclesiastical -court.</p> - -<p>Under the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ancien régime</i>, a large portion of a bishop’s -revenues was derived from ecclesiastical fines imposed by his -court, and into this court cases of immorality, heresy and -sacrilege among the laity, and of infringement of rubrical -exactness, and breach of discipline among the clergy, were -brought. As the prosecutor was also virtually the judge, it -may be supposed that judgment was usually given against -the defendant, who might appeal to the archbishop, or from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> -him to the pope,—all interested judges, but who was debarred -from carrying his wrong before a secular tribunal.</p> - -<p>The sun was declining behind the pines, and was painting -with saffron the boles of the trees, and striping with orange -and purple the forest paths, as Thomas Lindet prepared to -part from his friend Jean Lebertre, curé of the pilgrimage -shrine of Notre Dame de la Couture, at the brow of the hill -where the path to the Couture forked off from the main road -to Bernay. At this point the trees fell away towards the valley, -and the shrine was visible, lit in the last lights of evening which -turned the grey stone walls into walls of gold.</p> - -<p>La Couture is a singularly picturesque church, with lofty -choir rising high above the nave roof, and with numerous -chapels clustered about the chancel apse. The spire of lead -with pinnacled turrets, in that setting glare, seemed a pyramid -of flames.</p> - -<p>The priest of Bernay was a tall thin man of forty-five, with -colourless face, sunken cheeks, and restless, very brilliant eyes. -His face, though far from handsome, was interesting and -attractive. It beamed with intelligence and earnestness. His -long hair, flowing to his shoulders, was grizzled with care -rather than with age,—the care inseparable from poverty, -and that arising from the responsibilities attending on the -charge of a number of souls. His brow was slightly retreating -and wanted breadth, his cheek-bones were high. The nose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -and mouth were well moulded, the latter was peculiarly delicate -and flexible. The thin lips were full of expression, and -trembled with every emotion of the heart.</p> - -<p>Lindet’s hands were also singularly beautiful—they were -narrow and small; a lady would have envied the taper fingers -and well-shaped nails. Malicious people declared that the -priest was conscious of the perfection of his hands, and that -he took pains to exhibit it; but this was most untrue. No -man was more free from vanity, and had a greater contempt -for it, than Thomas Lindet. He had contracted a habit of -using his right hand whilst speaking, in giving force to his -words by gesture, and whilst thinking, in plucking at the -cassock-buttons on his breast, but this trick was symptomatic -of a highly-strung nervous temperament, and was in no -degree attributable to personal vanity.</p> - -<p>Lebertre was somewhat of a contrast to Lindet. He was -a middle-sized, well-built man, with a face of an olive hue, hazel -eyes, large, as earnest as those of his friend, but not like them -in their restlessness; they were deep, calm wells, which seemed -incapable of being ruffled by anger, or clouded with envy. -His black hair was flowing and glossy, without a speck in -it of grey. ‘I would not do so,’ said he, holding Lindet’s -arm; ‘you should bear meekly, and suffer patiently.’</p> - -<p>‘Bear and suffer!’ repeated the curé of S. Cross, his eyes -lightening and his lips quivering; ‘True. “Suffering is the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -badge of all our tribe.” What the English poet puts into the -mouth of a Jew is a motto meet for a French curé. But, my -brother, tell me—are not wrongs and sufferings crushing us, -destroying our self-reliance, ruining our independence, and -obliterating our self-respect? How can a priest be respected -by his flock when he does not respect himself; and how can -he respect himself when he is trodden like dirt under the feet -of his spiritual superiors?’</p> - -<p>‘Bearing wrongs and suffering injustice without a murmur -is the badge of a Christian; above all, of a priest. He who -suffers and endures uncomplainingly is certain to obtain respect -and reverence.’</p> - -<p>‘A pretty world this has become,’ exclaimed Lindet; ‘the -poor are ground to powder, and at each turn of the wheel -we are bidden preach them Christian submission. They look -around, and see everywhere labour taxed, and idleness go -free. Toil then like a Christian, and pay, pay, pay, that the -king may make fountains for his garden, the nobles may -stake high at cards, and the bishops and canons may salary -expensive cooks. Say the little farmer has a hundred francs. -Out of this he is obliged to pay twenty-five for the taille, -sixteen for the accessories, fifteen for his capitation, eleven for -tithe. What remains to him for the support of his family, -after he has paid his rent? Truly of this world may be said -what is said of hell: “<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Nullus ordo, sempiternus horror inhabitat</i>”’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span></p> - -<p>Lebertre did not answer. With the steadfastness of purpose -that was his characteristic, he returned to his point, and -refused to be led into digression by his vehement and volatile -companion. ‘You must not go to Évreux, as you propose,’ -he said.</p> - -<p>‘I shall go to the bishop,’ returned Lindet; ‘and I shall -give him the money into his hand. I shall have the joy, the -satisfaction, may be, of seeing, for once in my life, a bishop’s -cheek burn with shame.’</p> - -<p>‘Is this a Christian temper?’</p> - -<p>‘Is it the part of a Christian bishop to consume his clergy -with exactions and with persecutions, and to torture them -with insults? Our bishop neglects his diocese. He receives -some four hundred and fifty thousand livres per annum, and -can only visit Bernay, with five thousand souls in it, once -in three years, to confirm the young and to meet the clergy. -When he comes amongst us on these rare occasions he takes -up his abode at the Abbey, and receives us, the priests who -seek advice and assistance, at a formal interview of ten -minutes, into which we must condense our complaints; and -then we are dismissed without sympathy and without redress.’</p> - -<p>Lindet took a few steps along the path to La Couture. ‘I -will accompany you, Jean,’ he said; ‘and I will tell you how -I was treated when last I had access to Monseigneur. He -sat at a little table; on it was a newspaper and a hand-bell,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> -and his large gold watch. He signed to me to stand before -him; I did so, holding my hands behind my back like a boy -who is about to be scolded. He asked me some trifling -question about my health, which I did not answer. I could -not afford to waste one out of my ten minutes thus; so I -broke out into an account of our troubles here. I told him -there was no school for the children; that I had no parsonage -house. God knows! I would teach the poor children myself -if they could be crowded into my garret, but the good woman -with whom I lodge will not permit it. I told him of the -want and misery here, of the exactions under which the poor -are bowed. I spoke to him of the hollow-eyed hungry workmen, -and of the women hugging their starving babes to their -empty breasts.’ The priest stopped, gasping for an instant, -his trembling white hand working in the air, and expressing -his agitation with mute eloquence. ‘All the while I talked, -his eye was on the newspaper; I saw that he was reading, -and was not attending to me. What he read was an account -of a fête at Versailles, from which, alas! he was absent. -Then he touched his bell. “Your time is up,” he said; and I -was bowed out.’</p> - -<p>‘You forget that the time of a prelate is precious.’</p> - -<p>‘I grant you that,’ answered Lindet, with quivering voice; -‘too precious to be spent amidst a crowd of lackeys in -dancing attendance on royalty; too precious to be wasted on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -fêtes and dinners to all the lordlings that Monseigneur can -gather about his table in the hopes that they may shed some -lustre on his own new-fledged nobility.’</p> - -<p>‘I will not hear you, my friend,’ said Lebertre, turning from -him; ‘you are too bitter, too vindictive. You would tear our -bishops from their seats, and strip them of their purple.’</p> - -<p>‘Of their purple and fine linen and sumptuous faring every -day, that Lazarus may be clothed and fed!’ interrupted Lindet, -passionately.</p> - -<p>‘You would abolish the episcopacy and convert the Church -to presbyterianism,’ said the curé of La Couture with a slight -tone of sarcasm.</p> - -<p>‘Never,’ answered the priest of S. Cross; his voice instantly -becoming calm, and acquiring a depth and musical tone like -that in which he was wont to chant. ‘No, Lebertre, never. -I would preserve the ancient constitution of the Church, but -I would divest it of all its State-given position and pomp. I -would have our bishops to be our pastors and overseers, and -not our lords and tyrants. I reverence authority, but I abhor -autocracy. David went forth in the might of God to fight -the Philistine; Saul lent him his gilded armour, but the -shepherd put it off him—he could not go in that cumbrous -painted harness. With his shepherd’s staff and sling he slew -the giant. Woe be it! the Church has donned the golden -armour wherewith royalty has invested her, and crushed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -beneath the weight, it lies prostrate at the feet of the -enemy.’</p> - -<p>Lindet walked on fast, weaving his fingers together and -then shaking them apart.</p> - -<p>‘But let me continue what I had to tell you of the bishop’s -visit here,’ he said. ‘I was walking down the Rue des Jardins -an hour after my reception, with my head sunk on my bosom, -and—I am not ashamed to add—with my tears flowing. I -wept, for I was humbled myself, and ashamed for the Church. -Then suddenly I felt a sting across my shoulders, as I heard -a shout. I started from my reverie to find myself almost -under the feet of the horses of a magnificent carriage with -postilions and outriders in livery, that dashed past in a cloud -of dust. I stood aside and saw my bishop roll by in conversation -with M. Berthier, laughing like a fool. My shoulders -tingled for an hour with the lash of the post-boy’s whip, but -the wound cut that day into my heart is quivering and bleeding -still.’ As he spoke, he and his friend came suddenly upon a -wayside crucifix which had been erected at the confines of -the parish as a station for pilgrims, in a patch of clearing. -The pines rose as a purple wall behind it, but the setting -sun bathed the figure of the Saviour in light, and turned -to scarlet the mat of crimson pinks which had rooted themselves -in the pedestal.</p> - -<p>Lebertre pressed the hand of his agitated companion, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -pointed up at the Christ, whilst an expression of faith and -devotion brightened his own countenance. He designed to -lead the thoughts of Lindet to the great Exemplar of patient -suffering, but the curé of S. Cross mistook his meaning. He -stood as one transfixed, before the tall gaunt crucifix, looking -up at the illumined figure. Then, extending his arms, he cried, -‘Oh Jesus Christ! truly Thou wast martyred by the bishops -and aristocrats of Thy day; smitten, insulted, condemned to -death by Annas and Caiaphas, the high priests, and by Pilate, -the imperial governor. Verily, Thy body the Church bleeds -at the present day, sentenced and tortured by their successors -in Church and State.’</p> - -<p>Before the words had escaped his lips, a cry, piercing and -full of agony, thrilled through the forest.</p> - -<p>Lindet and Lebertre held their breath. In another instant, -from a footpath over which the bushes closed, burst a peasant -girl, parting the branches, and darting to the crucifix, she -flung herself before it, clasping her arms around the trunk, -and in so doing overturning a flower-basket on her arm, and -strewing the pedestal and kneeling-bench with bunches of -roses.</p> - -<p>She was followed closely by a large man, richly dressed, -who sprang towards her, cast his arms round her waist, and -attempted to drag her from her hold. ‘Sacré! you sweet -little wench. If persuasion and flattery fail, why, force must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -succeed.’ And he wrenched one of her bare brown arms -from the cross. She cast a despairing look upward at the -thorn-crowned head which bowed over her and the seducer, -and uttered another piteous wail for help.</p> - -<p>At the same moment, the sun passed behind some bars of -fog on the horizon, and the light it flung changed instantly -from yellow to blood-red. The figure of the Christ was a -miserable work of art, of the offensive style prevalent at the -period, contorted with pain, the face drawn, and studded with -huge clots of blood. In the scarlet light it shone down on -those below as though it were carved out of flame, and -menaced wrathfully.</p> - -<p>The girl still clung to the cross with one arm. She was -dressed in a short blue woollen skirt that left unimpeded her -ankles and feet, a black bodice laced in front, exposing the -coarse linen sleeves and shift gathered over the bosom about -the throat. Her white frilled Normandy cap, with its broad -flaps, was disturbed, and some locks of raven hair fell -from beneath it over her slender polished neck. The -oval sun-browned face was exquisitely beautiful. The -large dark eyes were distended with terror, and the lips were -parted.</p> - -<p>‘Mon Dieu! do you think that those frail arms can battle -with mine?’ asked the pursuer with mocking composure, as -he drew the other arm from the stem of the cross, and holding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -both at the wrists, pressed them back at the girl’s side so -as to force her to face him.</p> - -<p>‘Look at me,’ he said, in the same bantering tone; ‘can -your pestilent little village produce so wealthy and promising -a lover as me? Your Jacques and Jeans have but a few -liards in their purses, and can only offer you a pinchbeck ring; -but I’—he disengaged one hand, whilst he felt in his pocket -and produced a purse; ‘whilst I—Ha! listen to the chink, -chink, chink! You do not know the language of money, do -you? Well, I will interpret; chink, chink—that means silk -dresses, satin shoes, dainty meats, and sweet bonbons. Now -then!’ he exclaimed, as she made a struggle to escape.</p> - -<p>‘Now then,’ repeated Thomas Lindet, who, quick as thought, -strode between the man and his prey. He released the child; -and placing her beside him, with a lip that curled with scorn, -he removed his huge shovel hat, and bowing almost double, -with a sweep of the hat, said, ‘M. Berthier! the little one -and I bid you good evening!’</p> - -<p>Then he drew back, extending his arm and hat as an ægis -over the girl.</p> - -<p>The gentleman stood as if petrified, and looked at them. -He was a tall man, largely made, very big-boned, with his -hair powdered and fastened behind by a black silk bow. His -face was closely shaven, the nose short, the upper lip very -long and arched. But the most conspicuous feature of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -face were his eyes, set in red and raw sockets. As he stood -and looked at the priest, he mechanically drew a handkerchief -from his pocket, and proceeded with a corner of it to wipe -the tender lids.</p> - -<p>His coat was of maroon velvet edged and frogged with -gold braid, his waistcoat was of white satin, and his hat was -three-cornered and covered with lace. He wore a rapier at -his side; and he was evidently a man of distinction.</p> - -<p>‘Come, Lebertre, my friend,’ said Lindet, cheerfully, without -taking any more notice of the gentleman; ‘I will accompany -you and help to protect this damsel.’ The girl had lost -one of her sabots, but in the excess of her fear she walked -along unconscious of her loss. The curé of La Couture -strode on one side of her, and the priest of Bernay paced on -the other, supporting her with their hands, for her limbs shook -with agitation, and, if unassisted, she would have fallen.</p> - -<p>‘I know her,’ said Lebertre to his friend, ‘she is little -Gabrielle André, and lives down by the river with her father, -who is a farmer of the Abbey.’</p> - -<p>Lindet looked across at his companion, with a glad light -dancing in his eyes, and raising one hand heavenwards he -exclaimed: ‘Did I not say that the Church in all her members -suffers and bleeds? Would, dear friend, that, as we have -rescued this poor child out of the hands of a betrayer, we -might also rescue the poor Church from her seducers!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span></p> - -<p>Lebertre did not answer; but after a while he said solemnly, -and with an air of deep conviction: ‘Lindet! did you mark -how, at the cry of the child, the head of the Christ shook -and frowned?’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat1"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Charentonne in its meanderings forms a number of -islets. The stream is in itself inconsiderable, but it spreads -itself through its shallow valley like a tangled skein, and -cuts up the meadows with threads of water easily crossed on -plank-bridges.</p> - -<p>Much of the land in the bottom is marsh, into which a -rill dives and disappears, but other portions are firm alluvial -soil, producing rich crops of grass, flax, and here and there -patches of corn.</p> - -<p>On one of these islands, if islands they may be called, above -the hamlet of La Couture, stood a cottage, in style resembling -those we meet with in the southern counties of England, -constructed of black timber and white plaster, and thatched. -To the south, at its back, lay a dense growth of willow and -poplar, screening the house from the sun, and giving it in -winter a moist and mouldy appearance, but in summer one -cool and refreshing. A considerable flower-garden occupied -the front of the cottage, filled with superb roses, white, yellow, -and red. Tall white and scarlet lilies leaned against the house,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -whose thatch was golden with house-leek, so that in the flower -season the Isle des Hirondelles attracted the admiration of -all who passed along the road to Ferrières.</p> - -<p>In this cottage lived Matthias André, father of Gabrielle, -whom the two priests are conducting across the foot-bridge -towards him.</p> - -<p>He was cleaning out the cow-house as they approached, -littering fresh straw in the stall from which he had forked -the manure. He was a middle-sized man, clad in knee-breeches -and blue worsted half-stockings that covered the -calves, but were cut short at the ankles. His sabots, which -shod his otherwise bare feet, were stained and clotted with -soil. His coarse linen shirt was open at the throat, exposing -his hairy breast, and the sleeves were rolled to the elbows, -so as to give free play to his brown muscular arms. A large -felt hat, out of which the sun had extracted the colour, lay -on the bench before the door, and his head was covered -with a blue knitted conical cap, the peak and tassel of which -hung over his right ear.</p> - -<p>Labour and exposure had bronzed and corrugated the -features of Matthias, oppression and want had stamped on -them an expression of sullen despair. His brow was invariably -knit, and his eyes were permanently depressed. He -muttered to himself as he worked: he never sang, for his -heart was never light. How can the heart be light that is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -weighed down, and galled with chains? The life of the -peasant before the French Revolution was the life of a slave; -he could not laugh, he could not even smile, for he had to -struggle for bare existence with exactions which strangled -him. He and his sons were like Laocoon and his children -in the coils of the serpent that was laced round their limbs, -that breathed poison into their lungs, and sucked the lifeblood -from their hearts; and that serpent was the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ancien -Régime</i>.</p> - -<p>Louis VI had enfranchised the serfs on the royal domain, -and the nobles, after his example, gradually released theirs, -finding that the peasant, with liberty and hope, worked -better than the slave, and made the land more valuable. To -them they sold or rented some of their acres. In 1315 -appeared the order of Louis X, requiring all the nobles to -emancipate their serfs, because ‘every man should be born -free; therefore let the lords who have rights over the persons -of men, take example from us, and bring all to freedom.’</p> - -<p>The nobles, determined by their interest, obeyed; but -down to 1789 serfs remained in France;—it was from the -hands of the Church that the Revolution liberated them. To -the last, the canons of the Cathedral of S. Claude, in -Franche-Comté, refused to emancipate their slaves from the -feudal right of <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">main morte</i>, which placed human beings, ransomed -by the blood of Christ, on a level with the cattle.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -In Jura there were as many as ten thousand; but in Normandy -serfage had disappeared in the thirteenth century. -The serf became a small farmer, and free;—but at what -price? The land was his on condition of paying a rent. -Charges also, <em>real</em>, that is, paid in money or in fruits, and -<em>personal</em>, that is, acquitted by service rendered free of expense -to the landlord, weighed on the agriculturist.</p> - -<p>The imposts which oppressed him were these:—First, the -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Taille</i> or tax. Of this there were two kinds, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">taux</i> and -the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">taillon</i>. From these taxes the nobles and the churchmen -were exempt. Of nobles there were in France some 83,000, -and of churchmen some 200,000. The capitation was an -impost direct and personal, which touched all. Calculated -upon the presumed value of land and property which was -taxable, it was arbitrary, and those who had access to, and -credit with, the officers of comptrol, were lightly rated, whilst -those without interest were obliged to pay according to an -exaggerated estimate. By a succession of injustices, also, -the capitation of some was fixed, whilst that of others varied. -The duty of tenth was levied nominally on all; but nobles -and ecclesiastics were privileged, and paid nothing on their -woods, meadows, vines, and ponds, nor on arable land -belonging to the home farm.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Corvée</i>, also, weighed only on the peasant. The -name, according to etymologists, indicates the posture of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -man bowed at the hardest labour. He who was amenable -to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">corvée</i> was required to work himself, and make his -horses and oxen work, for his landlord and for government. -By this means the roads and other public works were kept -in repair.</p> - -<p>Two grand sources of public revenue were the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Gabelle</i> -and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Excise</i>. The gabelle, or monopoly of salt, pressed -upon the peasant in two ways. The father of the family, -obliged to pay for salt which he needed a price fifty -times its value, was also required, under pain of imprisonment, -to purchase a certain amount, determined by the clerks, -and fixed according to the presumed consumption of his -family. If he failed to purchase the requisite amount, or if -he was suspected of being in possession of contraband goods, -at any time of the day his house might be invaded by the -officers of the Excise, and its contents examined.</p> - -<p>The feudal rights to grinding the corn, and pressing the -grapes and apples, were also grievous restrictions on the -liberty of the farmer and peasant. His landlord might imprison -him for crushing the wheat he grew in a hand-quern, -and for squeezing enough apples to fill a bottle with cider.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Champart</i> was another feudal right. The farmer was -bound to yield to his lord not only a share of his harvest, -but also he was not permitted to reap and garner his own -corn till the portion due to the proprietor had been removed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -from his field. In addition to all these burdens came the -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Tithe</i>; wheat, barley, rye, and oats were at first alone tithable. -But the conversion of arable land into pasture and -into fields of lucerne, sanfoin, and clover, to escape this tax, -affected the income of the clergy, and they claimed the right -of taking the tenth of cattle and of tithing wool. Nobles -and roturiers resisted this claim, and numerous law-suits were -the result,—suits rendered so expensive by the corruptions -existing in courts of justice, that the vast majority of sufferers -paid the tenth of their goods to the clergy rather than risk -all to the lawyers.</p> - -<p>Matthias André removed his blue cap to the curés as they -approached. He bore them no grudge,—they were fellow-sufferers; -but he was wont to grind his teeth as the nobleman -or the provost drove by, and he would curse the monk -who came to exact the convent dues.</p> - -<p>‘Good evening to you, neighbour André,’ said Jean Lebertre; -‘we have brought you your daughter. She is a -little upset, frightened by the impertinence of a—well, of a -gentleman.’</p> - -<p>‘Of a rascal,’ interrupted Lindet.</p> - -<p>‘She shall tell you the story,’ said the priest of La Couture, -thrusting the girl forward; ‘she can do so better than -I; all I know of it is, that my friend here rescued her from -a gentleman who was treating her with insolence.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span></p> - -<p>‘How was it, child?’ asked Matthias, casting his fork from -him with such violence that it stuck into the soil and remained -upright.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle moved towards the seat.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, sit down,’ said Lebertre; ‘poor child, you are greatly -overcome.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle sank upon the bench. She still trembled in all -her limbs. Removing her white cap, which was disarranged, -her beautiful dark hair fell in waves down her back and -touched the seat she occupied. The fear which had distended -her eyes had now deserted them, and the irises recovered -their usual soft and dewy light. The peachy colour -also returned to cheeks that had been blanched, but the -delicate rosy lips still quivered with excitement. Clasping -her hands on her lap, and shaking the locks from her -temples, she looked up beseechingly at her father, and said, -in gentle entreaty,—</p> - -<p>‘My father! Let me not go to the château again.’</p> - -<p>‘Tell me what took place.’</p> - -<p>‘It was M. Berthier, my father. You know how I have -feared him. Why did you send me to the château?’</p> - -<p>‘Go on, child.’</p> - -<p>She suddenly clasped her hands over her brow, threw her -head forward, and resting her elbows on her lap, said:—‘Promise -me! I am not to go near that place again.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p> - -<p>‘Is time so common an article that I can afford to waste -it thus?’ exclaimed André. ‘Go on with your story, or I -shall return to littering the cow-stall.’</p> - -<p>‘My father!’</p> - -<p>‘Well!’</p> - -<p>‘I am not to go there again!’</p> - -<p>With a curse the peasant flung himself towards his fork, -tore it out of the ground, and recommenced his work. He -continued carrying into the cow-shed bundles of straw and -spreading them, with apparent forgetfulness of his daughter, -and indifference to her trouble. She remained with her head -in her hands, crying. Lebertre spoke to her, but her grief had -now obtained the mastery over her, and she could not answer -him.</p> - -<p>‘Let her cry herself out,’ said Lindet.</p> - -<p>After the first paroxysm was over, she sprang up, ran -to her father, cast her arms about him, and placing her -chin upon his breast, looked up into his eyes. This was -an old trick of hers. Matthias never looked any one in the -face, and when his daughter wished to meet his gaze, she -acted thus.</p> - -<p>‘I will tell you all now,’ she said. ‘Come, sit by me on -the bench.’</p> - -<p>‘I have no time at present,’ he answered, sullenly. ‘Besides, -I can guess a great deal.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span></p> - -<p>‘You shall listen to me,’ said the girl; ‘I will not let you -go till you have heard everything.’</p> - -<p>She removed the manure-fork from his hand, and led him -to the door of the cow-shed. He would not go farther, he -would not seat himself beside her, as she had asked. He -yielded to her request in one particular, but not in another. -It was his way,—his pride, to do whatever he was asked with -a bad grace. He supported himself against one side-post, with -his head down, and the knuckle of his forefinger between his -teeth; she leaned against the other jamb.</p> - -<p>‘I went round to the houses, as usual, selling my bunches -of roses; I sold one to Madame Laborde, and two to the -Demoiselles Bréant; and M. François Corbelin, the musician, -bought one, but he did not pay me,—he had no money with -him to-day, but he promised for next time. Then I went to -the château of M. des Pintréaux, but the ladies did not want -any of my roses; and then I walked on with my basket to the -Château Malouve. The lackeys told me that Monsieur was -not in, but that he was a little way along the road, and that -I was to take him my roses, as he particularly wished to purchase -them, he wanted them all; so I walked on, but I was -distressed, for I did not like to meet M. Berthier alone. He -always addresses me in a way that gives me pain, and he -makes his jokes, so that I am ashamed.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, well, go on.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span></p> - -<p>‘So, my father, after I had shown him my basket——’</p> - -<p>‘Then you found him?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes; he was at no great distance. He laughed when I -came towards him. He did not seem to care much for the -roses, but looked at me with his horrible eyes, and he put his -hand to my chin, and asked for a kiss, then I was frightened -and ran from him; but he followed me, and I was so frightened -that I could not run with my usual speed; my head was spinning, -and I scarcely knew whither I was going; then, just -as he caught me up, M. le Curé rescued me from him. God -be praised!’</p> - -<p>Matthias turned from the door-post to resume his pitchfork, -but his daughter intercepted him once more.</p> - -<p>‘My father,’ she entreated, ‘say that I am never to go again -with my roses to M. Berthier!’</p> - -<p>‘Did he pay you for the bunches he took?’</p> - -<p>‘No; I ran away before he paid for them.’</p> - -<p>‘You are a fool; you should have taken the money, and -then run away.’</p> - -<p>Lebertre now stepped forward to interfere.</p> - -<p>‘It is not right, Matthias, that the poor child should be sent -into such peril again.’</p> - -<p>‘M. Berthier buys more bunches than any one else,’ answered -André, moodily.</p> - -<p>‘Dear father, I have too often to suffer the looks and smiles<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -and jokes of those to whom I offer my bunches of flowers,’ -said the girl, emboldened by finding that the priest took her -part. ‘Let me work in the field every day with you. Let -us dig up the garden, and turn it into a potato-field.’</p> - -<p>‘Remember the risk to a young and pretty child,’ continued -the curé, ‘in sending her round the country alone with her -basket of flowers. The young gentlemen are gay and reckless; -shame and sin enough have been wrought in this neighbourhood -by them, and M. Berthier is notorious for his -debaucheries. You are thrusting your child over a precipice.’</p> - -<p>‘We must live,’ answered the peasant, fiercely. ‘Answer -me this. Does not the sailor risk life for a small wage; does -not the soldier jeopardy his for a gay coat and a liard a day? -Is it not the mission of men—I do not mean of nobles, they -are not men, they are gods—to labour and struggle for a subsistence -in the midst of perils? Shall not my child, then, run -some risks to win enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger in -our vitals? Does not the doctor venture his health for the -sake of a fee, and shall not this girl risk her honour to save -her life?’</p> - -<p>‘You imperil both your soul and hers.’</p> - -<p>Matthias shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>Lindet strode up to him, caught his shoulders in his palms, -and jerked his head upwards; their eyes met for a second, -and in that second Lindet mastered his dogged humour.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -André threw it aside, and straightening himself, he beat his -hands together, and cried out in an altered tone, full of bitterness -and pain,—</p> - -<p>‘My God! what are we poor but the cattle of the rich? -We are theirs; what is the good of our attempting to resist -their will? They possess our earnings, our labour, our life, -our honour; ay! our souls are theirs, to ruin them if they like. -Can anything I may do protect poor Gabrielle from M. Berthier, -or any other great man who shall cast his lustful eyes -on her? No. Let things take their course. Perhaps God -will right our wrongs at the judgment. I wait for that. Thy -kingdom come!’ he exclaimed, throwing up his hands to the -sky. ‘And till then,—if it be God’s will that we should be -the prey of the powerful,—that they should eat us up, and -pollute our honour,—why, His will be done, we must even -bear it.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you love your daughter?’ asked Lebertre.</p> - -<p>‘As much as I can afford,’ answered André, relapsing into -his moody humour.</p> - -<p>‘You do love her,’ said Lindet; ‘but you love yourself better.’</p> - -<p>Matthias looked furtively at him.</p> - -<p>‘I love her, indeed,’ he said, sadly; ‘but I have no thoughts -for anything but how to stave off the great enemy.’</p> - -<p>‘What great enemy?’ asked Lebertre.</p> - -<p>‘Hunger,’ answered the peasant, passionately.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span></p> - -<p>‘The child shall not take her flowers to the Château Malouve -any more,’ said Lindet, firmly. ‘She shall take them -instead to my brother Robert, and he will buy them. Mind, -<em>instead</em>, not besides.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, monsieur!’ answered André. ‘Indeed, I do not -desire that evil should befall my dear child, but hunger is -imperious; and oh! last winter was so terrible, that I dare not -face another such, so destitute of means as I have been.’</p> - -<p>Dusk had by this time settled in, and the curés walked -homewards. Their roads lay together as far as La Couture, -which is almost a suburb of Bernay, and was, according to -antiquaries, the original parish church of that town, before -the erection of S. Cross.</p> - -<p>‘See,’ said Lindet to his friend, as they parted at the door -of the presbytery of La Couture; ‘see how want and poverty -dry up the natural springs of love and virtue; and how the -nobles, the Church, and the king, by their oppression of the -peasant, are demoralising him. Believe me, if ever a day of -reckoning should come, those natural feelings, which oppression -has turned into gall, will overwhelm the oppressors. If -once the people get the upper hand, mercy must not be expected; -wrong-doing has long ago destroyed all the tenderer -feelings of our poor.’</p> - -<p>But he was wrong in thinking that they were destroyed. -Frozen over they were, but not dried up.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span></p> - -<p>That night, after André had gone up his ladder to the bed -of straw on which he lay, and after several hours of darkness, -Gabrielle woke up at the sound of sobs, and creeping lightly -from her attic chamber to her father’s door, she saw him by -the moonlight that flowed in at the unglazed window, kneeling -against his bed, with his head laid upon his arm, and the moon -illumining it, weeping convulsedly, and the white light glittered -in his tears.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat2"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> west front of Évreux Cathedral occupies one side of -a small square, of which the south side is formed by a high -wall pierced by the arched gate that conducts into the courtyard -of the bishop’s palace.</p> - -<p>Above this arch was wont to be erected the arms of the -prelate occupying the see, impaled with those of the diocese. -The Bishop of Évreux in 1788 was Monseigneur de Narbonne-Lara, -and the arms borne by him displayed a ramping and -roaring lion. As those of the bishopric were a S. Sebastian -bound to a pillar, and transfixed with arrows, the combination -was peculiar, and was seized on by the wags to point a moral. -They observed that the saint typified Religion, bound hand -and foot by establishmentarian thongs, and pierced through -with many sorrows, whilst Monseigneur’s lion, which seemed -bent on devouring the martyr, symbolized the greed and -ambition of the episcopacy.</p> - -<p>Monseigneur de Narbonne had scrambled from a counter -to a throne. He was one of those few prelates of the French -Church who were not members of great families. Tell it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> -not in Gath! his father made and sold goose-liver pasties at -Strasbourg; but Strasbourg is a very long way from Évreux.</p> - -<p>The bishop’s father called himself Lara, his mother had -been a Demoiselle Narbonne; by combining the names, and -prefixing to the maternal cognomen a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">De</i>, the bishop was able -to pass himself off as a member of the nobility, and to speak -disparagingly of roturiers. Above the parental shop at Strasbourg -hung a wooden and painted figure of a plucked goose, -the badge of the family profession, and the only heraldic -device of which old Lara boasted. The lion, says Æsop, -once assumed an ass’s skin; but on the shield of Monseigneur -de Narbonne-Lara, bishop of Évreux, abbot <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">in commendam</i> -of three religious houses, the ancestral goose ramped -and roared as a lion or out of a field gules.</p> - -<p>The bishop was ambitious of becoming an archbishop and -a cardinal; he had therefore to pay his court at once to -Versailles and to Rome—a course he was perfectly competent -to pursue, for, though filled to the brim with pride, he had -not a drop of self-respect. He was a tall, stout and handsome -man, but his good looks were marred by the redness and -fleshiness of his face, and his proportions were disguised by -the pomposity of his carriage.</p> - -<p>Being a man of consummate shrewdness, he had succeeded -in making himself a favourite at Court. His knowledge of -German had won him first the bishopric of Gap, and afterwards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -the more important one of Évreux, when, during the -late reign, the Dauphiness had set Austrian fashions. For -the same reason, he was now private chaplain to the Queen. -He gave capital dinners, and hoped by the choiceness of his -cookery and wines to buy the favour of those who had the -ear of royalty. By fussy officiousness in the diocese, by -worrying his clergy, he hoped to obtain credit for energetic -discharge of his episcopal duties, and by favouring the Jesuits, -he made sure that his acts would be favourably reported at -Rome.</p> - -<p>Monseigneur was now about to achieve a triumph. Prince -Louis-Stanislas-Xavier, commonly called ‘Monsieur,’ the -brother of the King, Duke of Anjou, Alençon and Vendôme, -Count of Perche, Maine, and Senonches, having business to -transact in Normandy connected with the bailiwicks of Bernay -and Orbec, of which he was lord, had been invited to the -palace by the Bishop of Évreux, and the prince had accepted -the invitation.</p> - -<p>Monseigneur de Narbonne was in a flutter of excitement -at the prospect. The same may be said of Mademoiselle -Baptistine, his sister, who lived with him. The grand old -palace was turned inside out. Painters, gilders, and upholsterers -had taken possession of the house, and had banished -the bishop into the turret overlooking the garden.</p> - -<p>The prelate sat in his purple cassock and cape, pen in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -hand, making imaginary calculations of the expenses the -visit of the prince would entail upon him. He had ordered -the withdrawing room to be furnished with blue silk hangings -powdered over with silver lilies, and having ascertained from -his sister the price per yard of silk, and having allowed a -margin for the fleurs-de-lis, he measured the room when no -one was looking, and had just estimated the cost. He added to -this the blue velvet divan, and the chairs gilt and covered with -blue velvet, and the painting and gilding of the ceiling, the -carpets and the mirrors. He had pretty well satisfied himself -that the income of the see would not bear such an expenditure -as he contemplated. But it was worth the sacrifice. Three -archbishops were then infirm. His own immediate superior -at Rouen had been reduced very low by a virulent attack of -gastric fever, brought on by immoderate eating of peaches; -and, according to the last account from Rouen, the archbishop, -immediately on his recovery, had again attacked -the fruit of which he was passionately fond, in opposition to -the express orders of his physician. If the archbishop were -to be again prostrated, there was every chance of his vacating -an archiepiscopal throne, and also of placing a cardinal’s hat -at the disposal of the Pope. M. Ponce, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officiel</i>, was with -the Bishop of Évreux.</p> - -<p>‘My good Ponce,’ said the bishop, ‘you must procure me -money somehow. Between ourselves, the expenses which I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -shall be compelled to incur, in order adequately to entertain -royalty, are so considerable, that I must have my coffer replenished, -or I shall be involved in difficulties.’</p> - -<p>‘I think, my Lord,’ answered the confidant, ‘that some of -the cases for your lordship’s court might be compromised, -and that would at once produce a sum of ready money.’</p> - -<p>‘My excellent friend, I shall esteem it a favour if you will -do so. Are there many cases in hand?’</p> - -<p>‘My Lord, I think there are some other cases coming on, -but they are not ripe yet. But, if your lordship will take -my advice, I should advise attention to be directed rather to -the clergy than to the laity. The times, as your lordship is -well aware, are somewhat uncertain. A spirit of antagonism -to constituted authority is abroad; there is much restlessness, -much impatience of the rights of those, whom Providence -has ordained masters and governors, in Church and State.’</p> - -<p>‘It is but just that the shepherd should live of the milk of -the flock,’ said the bishop with dignity.</p> - -<p>‘Your lordship is theoretically right; but, unfortunately, the -flock will not submit to be milked with as great equanimity -as heretofore. Since the local parliaments, to the detriment -of the liberties of the Church, have assumed to receive appeals -from our courts, we have lost the hold upon the laity that we -possessed formerly. I think—but here I bow to your lordship’s -superior judgment—that it would not be advisable,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -just at present—I only urge at present, to draw off too much -milk from the laity. Now as for the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">prêtrisse</i>, that is quite -another matter. The priests are at your disposal, your lordship -can do with them almost what your lordship likes. They -are, in fact, mere servants of the bishop.’</p> - -<p>‘True, Ponce,’ said the prelate, blandly; ‘I say to this man -go, and he goeth; and to another do this, and he doeth it.’</p> - -<p>‘And the most satisfactory point is this, they have no -appeal against their bishop. The law——’</p> - -<p>‘I am the law,’ interrupted Monseigneur; ‘to the diocese -in all matters ecclesiastical, I repeat the expression, I am the -law.’</p> - -<p>‘Your lordship is right,’ continued the officer; ‘and therefore -I would urge that the most ready source of money is to -be found in the Church. You have but to fine a priest, and he -cannot escape you. He cannot evade your court, he cannot -appeal to the crown, he dare not throw himself on public -opinion. He is completely at your mercy. He is your slave. -If he refuses to comply with your requirements, you can inhibit -him, or suspend him. Whilst suspended, the income of the -living goes to your lordship, and you have only to provide -out of it for the ministration of the sacraments; a small tax, -for there are always indigent or disreputable clergy glad enough -to take temporary duty for a trifling fee. But the curé knows -better than to resist his diocesan. He has been bred to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -consider it a matter of conscience to yield to his ecclesiastical -superior; and, even if conscience does not influence him, -common prudence will act upon him, when he considers -that every other profession is legally shut against him, so -that he must be his bishop’s slave, or starve.’</p> - -<p>‘I have no wish for a moment to act with undue severity -towards my clergy,’ said Monseigneur de Narbonne; ‘indeed, -I am incapable of any such action; but discipline must be -maintained, and when a spirit of defiance manifests itself, -even amongst the clergy, it is high time that they should -be made to recognise who is master in the Church. The -curés dare to call my episcopal acts in question, and to -oppose the execution of my projects. Is the Church a constitutional -government? Certainly not; it is a monarchy of -which every prelate is sovereign in his own see. The laity -may have eluded his crook, but with the spike he can transfix -his recalcitrant clergy.’</p> - -<p>‘I can give your lordship an instance of insubordination -corroborative of what you have just stated. I have just returned -from Bernay——’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! there you have one of these new lights,’ interrupted -the bishop. ‘I know his sentiments; he is a leader of disaffection, -a man of ungovernable vehemence, huge pride, and -insolent demeanour.’</p> - -<p>‘Quite so, my Lord,’ said M. Ponce. ‘According to your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -honoured instructions, he has been closely watched, and, as -I learned that he had neglected to light his sanctuary-lamp -during three days, he has rendered himself amenable to justice. -I have, however, offered him to compromise the matter on the -receipt of a fine of twenty-five livres. He has refused me -the money, and declares that he will speak to your lordship -about it, face to face.’</p> - -<p>‘The fellow must be humbled,’ said the prelate; ‘he forgets -that he has no legal status, that he is a mere salaried curate, -and that I have it in my power to ruin him. I am glad that -he is coming here; I shall have an opportunity of cautioning -him to exhibit decorum in his conduct and respect in his -behaviour.—— Well, Mademoiselle!’ he suddenly exclaimed, as -the door opened, and his sister entered, embracing a large -deal box.</p> - -<p>‘I have brought you your letters, Monseigneur, and——’</p> - -<p>‘Well, my good sister, and what?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, nothing, nothing!’</p> - -<p>‘May I ask what that box contains?’ enquired the bishop -blandly, whilst he took the letters.</p> - -<p>‘Nothing in the world, brother, but——’</p> - -<p>‘But what, eh?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! nothing at all.’</p> - -<p>‘Shall I retire?’ asked M. Ponce, who had risen from his -seat on the lady’s entry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span></p> - -<p>‘By no means, my Ponce, by no means;’ and he began to -tear open his letters.</p> - -<p>‘Ha! begging appeals. The priest of Semerville is restoring -his church, and entreats help; the people are too poor, the -landlord too chary of giving, and so on.’ Away fluttered the -note, torn in half, and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officiel</i> obsequiously picked it up -and placed it with a score other dead appeals in the wastepaper -basket.</p> - -<p>‘The curé of S. Julien entreats me to interfere—some widow -who has been wronged—bah!’ and that letter followed the -first.</p> - -<p>‘“I have allowed nine months to elapse since the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">vicaire</i> of -Vernon was appointed, and the licence has not yet been -forwarded; wherefore, knowing the uncertainty of the post, -he is confident that the omission is due to the neglect of the -postman, and not of the forgetfulness of the bishop.” Humph! -inclined to insolence. That is the way these young curates -behave! You shall await my convenience, M. Dufour.’ This -letter was crumpled up, and thrown at the basket.</p> - -<p>‘An altar to S. Joseph! The clergy of Louviers are -desirous—and so on. Well, Louviers is a large place. -S. Joseph the patron of the Jesuits; at any other time than -this, my good friends.’ Away sped this appeal. ‘“The -curé of Beaumont ventures to observe that it is two years -since the last confirmation, and that the children are growing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -up and leaving the district.” Confound his impudence! My -rule is plain enough, to hold a confirmation every year in -the large towns, Évreux and Louviers; one every second year -in the smaller towns; and one every third year in the rural -districts. Sister! enclose a printed slip with that notice to -the curé of Beaumont.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, brother.’</p> - -<p>‘What have we here? So, ho! a note from M. Berthier, -Intendant of Paris, written at his country seat, near Bernay, -about Thomas Lindet, who has behaved to him without proper -respect, and whose revolutionary principles render him a -dangerous person to be the curé of a large and important -town. Pass me my paper-case, Ponce, my good fellow, I will -send him a note in return to thank him for the information, -and to promise that the curé shall be reprimanded and -cautioned. Intendant of Paris! a man of consequence, is he -not, Ponce, eh?’</p> - -<p>‘A man of very great consequence, my Lord; his father-in-law -is M. Foulon, a great person at Court, as your lordship -must know.’</p> - -<p>If the bishop had attended to his sister instead of to his -letters, he would have observed that she was carefully placing -the deal box underneath the divan or sofa, which occupied -one side of the little room.</p> - -<p>‘Can I assist you, Mademoiselle?’ asked M. Ponce.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span></p> - -<p>‘On no account,’ replied the lady with evident alarm and -agitation.</p> - -<p>She made several ineffectual attempts to attract her brother’s -attention, but he was too absorbed in his letters to notice -her. And the moment he had despatched his answer to -M. Berthier, he plunged at once into a discussion as to the -guests who were to be invited to meet His Royal Highness, -at a fête on the evening of his arrival.</p> - -<p>‘I am in doubt whether to ask M. Girardin,’ said the prelate; -‘what is your opinion, my Ponce? He is Lieutenant-General -of the bailiwick, which should weigh against his lack of -nobility; his views are too liberal to please me, he is a bit -of a philosopher, has read Rousseau and Voltaire, perhaps, -and thinks with Montesquieu. I do not like to introduce a -herd of roturiers to the Duke; and, if one admits two or three, -all the burghers of the place will be offended at not having -been invited.’</p> - -<p>‘As you have done me the honour of asking my opinion,’ -said the functionary, ‘I would recommend you to invite -M. Girardin. Feed well those who are not favourably disposed -towards you; dazzle those who are your enemies, and you -render them powerless.’</p> - -<p>‘I quite agree with what you say,’ said the bishop. This -was not extraordinary, as his official merely repeated a sentiment -he had heard Monseigneur express several times before;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -‘those whom I cannot suppress I dazzle, those whom I cannot -dazzle I invite to my table.’</p> - -<p>‘There is sound worldly wisdom in that,’ said M. Ponce.</p> - -<p>‘And it works admirably,’ the bishop continued; then, -turning to his sister, he said, ‘Well, Baptistine, what about -the box?’</p> - -<p>The lady gave a little start, frowned, and shook her head.</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ paused the bishop; ‘what is in it? Where have -you put it?’</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Baptistine at once seated herself on the sofa, -and spread her gown, as a screen, to cover it, whilst she -made several cabalistic gestures to signify that the presence -of a third party prevented her from saying what she wanted. -M. Ponce caught a glimpse of these signs, or guessed that -he was no longer wanted, for he rose, and, after having -formally saluted the bishop, and asked permission to retire, -he walked sideways towards the door, repeatedly turning -to bow.</p> - -<p>As his hand rested upon the latch, the door was thrown -open, and a large black retriever bounded into the room, -between the legs of a powdered footman in purple livery, -who announced, ‘M. le Marquis de Chambray.’</p> - -<p>The gentleman who entered was tall and thin, with a -solemn face, adorned with a pair of huge grey moustaches. -His hair was powdered, and the dust covered the collar of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -his velvet coat. He was elaborately dressed, and had the air -of an ancient dandy. The Marquis was a man of some -fortune, and of illustrious family. He acted for the prince -as his deputy in the bailiwicks of Orbec and Bernay. Scarcely -less stiff and formal than his appearance was his character. -He was an aristocrat of the aristocrats, filled with family pride, -and rigid in his adherence to the rules of etiquette of the -reign of Louis XIV. He was never known to have made -a witty remark, certainly never a wise one. But though -neither witty nor wise, he was a man who commanded respect, -for he was too cautious ever to act foolishly, and too well-bred -ever to behave discourteously.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! sapristi!’ exclaimed the Marquis; ‘my naughty dog, -how dare you intrude? I must apologise, my Lord, for the -bad conduct of my dog. I left it in the courtyard, but it has -found its way after me.’</p> - -<p>‘Let him remain,’ said the bishop; ‘fine fellow, noble dog! -The doors are all open, my dear Marquis; the workmen are -engaged in getting the palace just a little tidy for our -distinguished visitor. Never mind the dog—it would be -impossible to shut him out, whilst the house is in confusion. -I am so sorry that you should be shown into this little -boudoir; but really, I am driven to it as my only refuge in -the midst of a chaos.’</p> - -<p>‘I have come to inform you, my lord bishop, that Monsieur<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -will be with you on Thursday next, if that will suit your -convenience. I received a despatch from him to-day, and, -amongst other matters, was a notice to that effect, and a -request that the announcement should be made to you -immediately.’</p> - -<p>‘We shall be proud to receive him, and everything shall -be in readiness,’ said the bishop.</p> - -<p>‘The weather is exceedingly fine,’ observed the Marquis, -turning courteously towards Mademoiselle Baptistine.</p> - -<p>‘It is charming,’ answered the bishop’s sister, nervously. -Mademoiselle Baptistine was a lady of forty-five, with an -aquiline nose, of which, as an aristocratic feature, she and -her brother were proud. Her complexion was fair, her eyes -very pale, and starting from her head, so that she had always, -except when asleep, the appearance of being greatly surprised -at something.</p> - -<p>‘It is also hot; Mademoiselle doubtless finds it hot,’ said -the Marquis.</p> - -<p>‘Very much so. I have been quite overcome.’</p> - -<p>‘But it is seasonable,’ observed the visitor. And so on.</p> - -<p>Presently, however, the conversation brightened up a little; -for the Marquis, turning sharply on the bishop, said: ‘By the -way, I met a member of your family the other day.’</p> - -<p>A scarlet flush covered the bishop’s face, and Mademoiselle -Baptistine turned the colour of chalk.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span></p> - -<p>‘I met the old Countess de Narbonne in Paris; she is -doubtless a cousin. I told her I was acquainted with your -lordship, but she did not seem to know you; probably her -memory fails.’</p> - -<p>‘The De Narbonne and the De Narbonne-Lara families, -though remotely connected, are not the same,’ answered the -bishop, wiping his hot face; ‘the branches separated in the -reign of Saint Louis, and therefore the connection between -them is distant. Mine crossed the Pyrenees and settled in -Spain, where they fought valiantly against the Moors. The -castle of Lara is in Andalusia; the family assumed the -territorial name of Lara, in addition to the De Narbonne, on -their receiving the Spanish estates from a grateful monarch -in recognition of their services. My grandfather, unfortunately, -gambled half the property away, and my father sold the rest -to pay off the debts his father had contracted; an honourable -proceeding, which reduced the family, however, greatly. With -the remains of his fortune he came to France, retaining -possession only of the ancestral castle in Spain.’</p> - -<p>Suddenly Mademoiselle Baptistine uttered a scream. From -under the sofa darted the retriever with a huge pasty in its -mouth. In its efforts to secure the dainty morsel, it flung -the lid of the box from which it had extracted the pie, half -way across the room.</p> - -<p>‘What is the dog at?’ exclaimed the bishop.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span></p> - -<p>‘Rascal!’ shouted the Marquis, ‘bring that here instantly.’ -He threatened the brute with his stick, and the dog crawled -to him with the pasty in its mouth.</p> - -<p>‘What manners!’ cried the nobleman; ‘I am so grieved -at the ill-conduct of my dog—No, Madame!’ as the lady -stooped towards the cover of the box, which had contained -the delicious tempting pie. ‘Never, Madame; allow me.’</p> - -<p>‘Allow me!’ said the bishop, bending his knee, and stooping -towards it. But Mademoiselle Baptistine was as active as -either of the men; and thus it came to pass that the three -heads met over the lid of the box; and at the same moment -the bishop and the Marquis read a printed shop-label, pasted -upon it, and directed in manuscript to the bishop, from—</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">‘<em>Jacques de Narbonne-Lara (formerly Lara),</em></span><br /> -Maker of the celebrated Strasbourg Goose-liver Pasties.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><em>Rue des Capuchins, 6; Strasbourg.</em>’</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>‘Sapient dog!’ said the nobleman, rising, and blowing his -nose. ‘My wise Leo knows what is good. Ah! the pasty -is utterly gone, he has eaten it. I quite envy him the mouthful. -Pray accept my deepest regret for his misconduct.’</p> - -<p>‘Do not mention it,’ answered the bishop, with his eyes still -on the hateful label.</p> - -<p>‘I am so glad to have the address,’ said the Marquis, with -a slight tinge of sarcasm in his voice; ‘I will write to the shop<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -and order some of these pasties for myself—I dote on the paté -de foix gras.’ And he bowed himself out of the room.</p> - -<p>‘What has that fool Jacques been about?’ asked the bishop, -throwing himself back in his chair, and clasping his hands in -the air above his head.</p> - -<p>‘My dear brother!’ answered Baptistine, ‘Jacques has -assumed the same name as you have; he is proud of being -brother to a bishop, that is why—and he has sent you the -pasty as an offering of brotherly love—so he says in his letter. -I found the box on the table in the hall, and all the servants -round it, laughing. I snatched it from them, and brought -it up here, when——’ the rest was drowned in tears.</p> - -<p>‘He had better have sent me a halter,’ said the bishop.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat3"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Famine</span> reigned in France, for the resources of the country -were drained off to sustain the court in luxury and vice. -In seven years, Louis XV added seven hundred and fifty -millions of francs to the two billions and a half of debts -left by Louis XIV. Archbishop Fénélon wrote to the -Grand Monarque: ‘At length, France is become one great -hospital, desolate and unprovided with the necessaries of life. -By yourself alone these disasters have been created. In -the ruin of France, everything has passed into your hands; -and your subjects are reduced to live upon your bounty.’</p> - -<p>Louis the Well-Beloved was hunting one day in the forest -of Sénart. He met a peasant carrying a coffin. ‘For whom -is that coffin?’ asked the king. ‘For a man.’ ‘What did -he die of?’ ‘Hunger.’ France was dying: in a few years, -but for the Revolution, it would have been dead and buried, -killed by famine.</p> - -<p>‘In my diocese,’ said the Bishop of Chartres, ‘men browse -with the sheep.’</p> - -<p>Taxes innumerable were paid. But there was not money<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -enough. Hundreds perished, that the beasts of Æsop’s fables -might squirt water in the duck-ponds of Versailles. The royal -mistresses sparkled with jewels, and each jewel cost a human -life. One hundred millions of francs went in pensions, the -Red Book told on whom. Exemption from taxes was given -liberally; the king created nobles, the revenue created employés, -all these were exempt. Thus, whilst the sum required -of the people increased every year, every year the number of -payers decreased. The load weighed on fewer shoulders, and -became more and more oppressive.</p> - -<p>At Versailles, fifteen thousand men and five thousand horses -were supported at the public cost to give splendour to the seat -of royalty; they consumed sixty million livres per annum. -The king’s house cost eighteen millions, that of the queen -four millions, and those of the princes nine millions, though -they possessed as their apannages a seventh part of the territory -of France. The Church drew an annual income of four -hundred and fifty millions; the tithes were worth eighty -millions, and its buildings were estimated at five hundred -millions. Of the land in France, one-fifth belonged to the -Church.</p> - -<p>What was the condition of the peasant? It has been already -described; it was he who bore the burden and heat of the day. -On his toils the court, the nobles, and the Church lived. It -was his blood that they sucked. The peasant might not plant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -what he would in his fields; pastures were required to remain -pastures, arable land was to be always arable. If he changed -his field into meadow, he robbed the curé of his tithe; if he -sowed clover in his fallow land, the landlord or the abbot -turned in his flock of sheep, to crop off it what he deemed his -share. The lord and the abbot sent out their cattle to pasture -an hour before those of the peasant; they had the right to -keep huge dovecots, and the pigeons fed on the grain of the -farmer. The tenant worked for his landlord three days in the -year for himself, three days for each of his sons and servants, -and three for each horse and cart. He was bound to cut and -make and stack his lord’s hay in spring, and to reap and -garner his wheat in autumn; to repair the castle walls, and -make and keep up the castle roads. Add to all this the tax -to the king, twelve sous per head for each child, the same for -each servant, the subvention for the king; the twentieth for -the king, that is, the twentieth portion of the fruits of the earth, -already tithed for the Church.</p> - -<p>When we hear folk declaim against the French Revolution, -do not let us forget what was the state of the people before -that event. The Revolution was a severe surgical operation, -but it was the salvation of France.</p> - -<p>To the beautiful gothic church of Notre Dame de la Couture, -the people of Bernay and the neighbouring villages went in -procession, on the Feast of the Assumption, to entreat the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -Blessed Virgin to obtain for them relief from their miseries. -Human succour seemed in vain. If they appealed to the king, -his answer was, <em>Give!</em> If they besought the nobility, they also -answered, <em>Give!</em> If they threw themselves at the feet of the -Church, her response was also, <em>Give!</em></p> - -<p>Now, throughout the land a cry went up to Heaven. At -Bernay it took the form of a pilgrimage.</p> - -<p>The origin of the Church of La Couture was as follows. -Far away in the purple of antiquity, when first the faith of -Christ began to dawn in Gaul, a shepherd-boy found himself -daily deserted by his flock, which left him as he entered the -forest in the morning, and only returned to him at nightfall. -Impelled by curiosity, he followed the sheep one day, and they -led him through bush and brake till he emerged on a pleasant -sunny glade upon the slope of the hill, where the pasture was -peculiarly rich, and where also, resting against a magnificent -wild rose, leaned a black statue of the Blessed Virgin.</p> - -<p>This discovery led to a concourse of pilgrims visiting the -image, which had been thus unaccountably placed in the heart -of a forest. The clergy of the ancient city of Lisieux sent -a waggon to transport the image to their church; but no -sooner was it placed upon their altar than it vanished, and was -found next morning in the glade of Bernay. A chapel was -erected over it, and was served by a hermit, but the afflux of -pilgrims made the shrine rich, and a church was built in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -forest, and about the church a village soon arose. The trees -were cut down, and the bottom of the valley was brought into -cultivation, from which fact the church obtained its name of -La Couture, or Ecclesia de Culturâ Bernaii.</p> - -<p>The church is beautifully situated on the steep side of the -hill, with its west front towards the slope, and its apse standing -up high above the soil, which falls away rapidly from it into -the valley. The western doorway is richly sculptured and -contains a flamboyant window, occupying the tymphanum of -the arch. Above this portal is a large window, which, at the -time of our story, was filled with rich tracery, and with richer -glass that represented Mary, the Queen of Heaven, as the -refuge of all in adversity. In the central light, the Virgin -appeared surrounded by flames and rays, her face and hands -black, whilst angels harped and sang around her. A fillet -surmounted her, bearing the text ‘Nigra sum, sed formosa, -sicut tabernacula cedar.’ (Cant. i. 4.) On one side, cripples -and sick persons stretched forth their hands to the sacred -figure; on the other, were peasants trampled on and smitten -by the servants of nobles in armour, whilst above in the tracery -might be seen houses and barns in conflagration, and ships -about to be engulfed in waves<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span></p> - -<p>From the west door, a flight of fifteen steps leads down into -the nave, so that on entering, the appearance of the church -is almost that of a magnificent crypt.</p> - -<p>On the 15th of August, in the afternoon, the church presented -an imposing spectacle. Eight parishes had united to -visit the shrine, and supplicate the protection of the Blessed -Virgin. The day had been hitherto very fine, and the sight -enjoyed from the churchyard of the processions arriving from -different quarters, in the bright sunshine, had been singularly -beautiful. Each parish procession was headed by its banner; -the clergy, by crucifix and candles. Various confraternities, -with their insignia, united to give picturesqueness to the -scene. From the interior of the church the effect was striking, -as the line,—endless it seemed,—rippled down the flight of -western steps, with tapers twinkling and coloured banners -waving; whilst the organ thundered, and the people shouted -the refrain of a penitential litany. The illumined figures in -the yard contrasted with those in shadow, as they flowed -through the portal: this was <ins class="corr" id="tn56" title="Transcriber’s Note—“epecially noticeable when a band of girls” changed to “especially noticeable when a band of girls”.">especially noticeable when a band of girls</ins> -in white, with white veils, and lighted taper in hand, -preceded by their white banner emblazoned with a representation -of the Assumption, moved through the doorway. The -leading ribbons of this banner were held by two maidens in -white; one of these was Gabrielle, and her appearance in this -pure garb was most beautiful. A wreath of white roses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -encircled her head, and clasped the muslin veil to her temples. -As the shadow of the arch fell upon her, a slight puff of wind -extinguished her candle, but on reaching the foot of the steps -a taper was held towards her, and she was about to re-light -hers at the flame, when, raising her eyes, she encountered those -of M. Berthier, who, with a smirk, proffered her his burning -candle. She shrank away, and kindled her light at the candle -of a girl who followed her.</p> - -<p>M. Berthier was in company with an old gentleman, very -thin, with a hatchet face, white hair, and black eyes active and -brilliant. He was dressed in an old brown riding-coat, with -high collar, over which protruded a short wiry pig-tail, fastened -with a large bow. He took snuff, at intervals of a few minutes, -from a large gold box; and he took it in a peculiar manner, -not from his fingers but from the palm of his hand, into which -he shook the tobacco dust, and from which he drew it into his -nostrils by applying the palm to his face. This method of -snuffing might be economical, but it was ungainly and dirty, -for it left crumbs of tobacco upon the lips, nose, and cheeks -of the old man.</p> - -<p>‘That is the wench,’ said Berthier, after he had politely -returned the taper, which he had unceremoniously snatched -from the hand of a peasant, that he might offer it to -Gabrielle.</p> - -<p>‘A pretty little darling,’ the old man replied. ‘Is this the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -third flame this year, and we only in August? Bah! my -lad, you are positively shocking.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you going to remain here among these rascals?’</p> - -<p>‘A moment or two, my friend; I want to see who are -the malcontents. Bah! these people ask Heaven for food. -Let Heaven give them rain and sunshine, and the earth -yield her increase; who will profit thereby? Not they. -Bah! Famine is not the result of the seasons, it is no -natural phenomenon. It is good for the people to be -kept on low diet, it humbles them; America bred fat -cattle, and they have thrown off the yoke. What makes -the famine, my boy? Why, <em>we</em> make famine, and keep -up famine, because the people must be retained in subjection.’</p> - -<p>Berthier touched the old man to silence him; Lindet was -close to them, and his glittering eye rested on the Intendant -and his father-in-law. But Foulon took no notice of the -touch, and he continued:—‘Bah! If they are hungry, let -them browse grass. Wait till I am minister, I will make -them eat hay; my horses eat it.’</p> - -<p>Thomas Lindet heard the words as distinctly as did Berthier. -A flush, deep as ruby, suffused his face, and he clenched his -teeth, whilst a flame darted from his eyes.</p> - -<p>‘Who is that devil?’ asked Foulon, with imperturbable calmness, -of his son-in-law.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span></p> - -<p>‘He is the priest of S. Cross, at Bernay. I owe him a -grudge. Come out of this crush into the air, I am stifled.’</p> - -<p>Berthier drew his father-in-law to the door.</p> - -<p>The weather was undergoing a change. To the west, above -the hill, a semicircle or bow of white cloud, in which the sun -made prismatic colours, edged a dense purple-black mass of -darkness. It was like gazing into a hideous cavern whose -mouth was fringed with fungus.</p> - -<p>‘A storm is at hand,’ said Berthier; ‘it is approaching too -rapidly for us to escape. We must remain here.’</p> - -<p>An ash with scarlet berries grew opposite the west door, -on high ground. This tree stood up against the advancing -clouds like a tree of fire, so intense was the darkness within -the bow of white. The leaves scarcely rustled; at intervals -a puff of wind swept over the churchyard and shook the -tree, but between the puffs the air was still. Gradually a -peculiar smell, very faint, like the fume of a brick-kiln at a -great distance, filled the air. The white vapourous fringe dissolved -into coils of cloud, ropy, hanging together in bunches, -and altering shape at each moment. A film ran over the -sun, which was instantly shorn of its rays; a chill fell on -the air, and a shadow overspread the ground; the ash turned -grey, and everything that had been golden was transmuted -into lead.</p> - -<p>From the church within sounded the organ, and the people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -chanting the Magnificat; and incense rose before the altar, -on which six candles burned.</p> - -<p>From over the western hill came the mumble of distant -thunder, a low continued roll like the traffic of heavy-laden -vehicles on a paved road. A few large drops fell and spotted -the flagstone on which Berthier and Foulon stood. They -looked up. The sky was now covered with whirling masses -of vapour, some light curl-like twists flew about before the -main body of lurid thunder-cloud, which was seamed and -hashed with shooting lights.</p> - -<p>The wind arose and moaned around the church, muttering -and hissing in the louvre-boards of the spire; the ash shivered -and shook, the willows and poplars in the valley whitened -and bent, and the long grass in the cemetery fell and rose -in waves; the jackdaws flew screaming around the tower, -a martin skimmed the surface of the ground, uttering its -piercing cry.</p> - -<p>Foulon had been scratching his initials listlessly on the -flag on which he stood, with the ferule of his walking-stick. -Drops like tears falling about it made him say:—‘Come -in, Berthier, my boy. The rain is beginning to fall, and you -will have your smart coat spotted and spoiled.’</p> - -<p>The two men re-entered the church. Vespers had just concluded, -and Lindet ascended the pulpit. From where he stood -he saw them in the doorway, with the sheet-lightning flashing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -and fading behind them. At one moment they appeared encircled -with flame, at another plunged in darkness.</p> - -<p>‘As I came into this church to-day,’ spoke Lindet with distinctness, -‘I heard one say to another: <em>If the peasants are -hungry, let them browse grass. I would make them eat hay; -my horses eat it.</em> As I stand in this pulpit, and the lightning -illumines yonder window, I see painted there a lean, famished -peasant, trampled under the hoofs of the horse of some noble -rider, and the great man has his staff raised to chastise the -peasant. Under these circumstances, the poor man lifts his -hands to heaven, as his only refuge. That is what you do -this day,—you, the down-trodden, scourged, and bruised; you -who are bidden browse the grass, because that is the food -of brute-beasts. Just Heaven! the importunate widow was -heard who cried to the unjust judge to avenge her on her -adversary, and shall not God avenge His own elect, though -He bear long?’</p> - -<p>The rain burst with a roar upon the roof,—a roar so loud -and prolonged that the preacher’s voice was silenced. The -vergers closed the great doors to prevent the rain from entering, -for the wind began now to blow in great gusts. The -fountains of heaven seemed to have burst forth, the rain -rattled against the west window, loudly as though hail and -not rain were poured upon it. Dazzling flashes of lightning -kindled up the whole interior with white brilliancy, casting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -no shadows. The congregation remained silent and awed, -the clergy in their tribune opposite the pulpit sat motionless. -The candles flickered in the draughts that whistled round -the aisles; their flames seemed dull and orange.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the bells in the tower began to peal. According -to popular belief their sound dispels tempests, and the -ringers were wont to pull the ropes during a storm. The -clash and clangour of the metal alternated with the boom -of the thunder. The darkness which fell on the church was -terrible, men and women on their knees recited their beads -in fear and trembling. Scarce a heart in that great concourse -but quailed. Once a child screamed. Then, as for -one instant, the bells ceased, the sobbing of a babe at its -mother’s breast was heard. The water began to flow down -the hill, collect into a stream in the churchyard, and to pour -in a turbid flood down the steps into the nave. It boiled -up under the closed door, it rushed into the tower and dislodged -the ringers, who were soon over shoe-tops in water.</p> - -<p>A startled bat flew up and down the church, and dashing -against the altar-candles extinguished one with its leathern -wings.</p> - -<p>All at once the rain ceased to fall, and the wind lulled. -None stirred; all felt that the tempest was gathering up its -strength for one final explosion ere it rolled away. Then a -tall thin woman in black, with a black veil thrown over her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -head, was observed to have stationed herself immediately before -the altar, where she knelt with outstretched arms and uplifted -face. Those who were near observed with horror that the -face, from which the veil was upthrown, was of a blue-grey -colour. When she had made her way to her present situation -none knew; none had observed her in the procession, for then -she had been, probably, closely veiled. She threw her arms -and hands passionately towards the black Virgin above the -altar, and in the stillness of that lull in the storm her piercing -cry was heard pealing through the church, ‘Avenge me on -my adversary.’</p> - -<p>‘My God!’ whispered Berthier to his father-in-law, as he -pointed to the excited worshipper, ‘look at my wife, Foulon! -she has gone mad.’</p> - -<p>‘Bah!’ answered the imperturbable old man; ‘nothing of -the sort, my boy; she is invoking vengeance upon you and -me.’</p> - -<p>Instantly the whole church glared with light, brighter than -on the brightest summer day. No one present saw any -object, he saw only light—light around him, light within him, -followed by a crash so deafening and bewildering that it was -some minutes before any one present was able to perceive -what had taken place, much less to realize it.</p> - -<p>The lightning had struck the tower, glanced from it, bringing -part of the spire with it; had rent the west wall of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -church, and had shattered the slab on which, some minutes -previously, Foulon and Berthier had been standing.</p> - -<p>This was the last effort of the storm; the sky lightened after -this explosion, the rain fell with less violence, and gradually -ceased.</p> - -<p>The congregation left the church. The torrent, which had -rushed down the hill, had in some places furrowed the graves -and exposed the dead. The grass was laid flat, and much -of it was buried in silt. Every wall and eave dripped, and -the valley of the Charentonne lay under water.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat4"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Matthias André</span> did not join the procession. He had -been to mass in the morning, for the Assumption was a day -of obligation. And now he sat smoking bad tobacco out -of an old brown clay pipe, on the seat before his door, facing -due north, towards Bernay; there was a corn-field on his right, -cut off from the Isle of Swallows by a rivulet of water—a -field he had ploughed whilst his daughter Gabrielle drove the -horses, which he had sown with his own hands, and which -he had reaped. Gabrielle had bound the sheaves after him, -and now the shocks stood in goodly array, waiting to be -garnered. They had been waiting thus twelve days. The -harvest was late this year, owing to the cold spring. Much -corn was down in the country, and the tithe-cart of the -monastery had been round to farm after farm, and had come -last to his. He did not dare to remove a sheaf till the Abbey -had taken its tenth; and after the monks came the revenue -officers, taking their twentieth. What the palmer-worm had -left, the locust devoured. Now came the feast-day, on which -all work ceased, so the good wheat remained a thirteenth -day unstacked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span></p> - -<p>Sullen, with downcast eyes, sat the peasant without his -coat, but in his red velvetine waistcoat, drawing long whiffs -from his pipe, and blowing them leisurely through his nostrils.</p> - -<p>Beside him sat a little wiry brown man, with coarse serge -suit of snuff-brown, face and hands, stockings and cap, to -match. His eyes were sharp and eager. This was Etienne -Percenez, the colporteur.</p> - -<p>‘You have not joined the procession, Matthias, my friend,’ -said the little man, filling a pipe.</p> - -<p>‘For five and forty years I have supplicated God, our -Lady, and the Saints, to assist me in my poverty, and the -answers to my prayers have been doled out in such scant -measure, that I have almost given up prayer,’ answered -André.</p> - -<p>‘You must work as well as pray,’ quoth the little man, -with his pipe in his mouth.</p> - -<p>‘Do I not work?’ asked the peasant-farmer, turning almost -fiercely on his friend; ‘I work from morning till night, and -from the new year to the new year. But what does that -avail when the season is bad? A hard winter, a late summer, -and then fiery heat from June to August, without a drop of -rain. The grass is hardly worth mowing; the clover is short -and scanty, and the corn-crops are poor. When we thrash -out the wheat, we shall find the greater part of the ear is -husk.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span></p> - -<p>‘Things may mend,’ said the colporteur; ‘they always -reach their worst before they right themselves. When we -have the States-general, why then we shall see, we shall see!’</p> - -<p>Matthias shrugged his shoulders. ‘What did the Notables -do for us last year?’</p> - -<p>‘The Notables are very different from the States-general. -The Notables were all chosen out of the nobility—one -hundred and forty oppressors met together, to decide how -much greater oppression we could be made to bear. But -in the States-general, the oppressed will have a voice, and -can cry out.’</p> - -<p>‘The Notables are summoned again.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, my friend, they are summoned by Necker, but not -to consult on the deficit, but to deliberate on the form of -election to the States-general, and on their composition.’</p> - -<p>‘How great is the deficit?’</p> - -<p>‘At the end of last year the expenditure surpassed the -receipt by one hundred and ten millions, and the deficit -now amounts to sixteen hundred and thirty millions. The -exchequer cannot borrow money, for Necker has discredited -loans by publishing the state of the finances. Do you think -the Notables, the princes of blood-royal, the chiefs of the -nobility, the clergy and the magistracy, will pay the debt -out of their own pockets? No, no; they like to spend and -not to pay. Now, the king is going to call together the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -States-general. The Notables pay! they saw only in Calonne’s -scheme the spoliation of the nobility and clergy, that is why -they drove Calonne away, and brought in Loménie de Brienne, -the bishop, in his stead; they brought a churchman into the -ministry to bury the public credit, dead long ago. De Brienne -finds that there is no other resource but to take possession -of Calonne’s plans, and ask the Parliament of Paris to consent -to a vast loan. But the Parliament is made up of judges, -men grave and economical, and they are indignant at an -impost on their lands. Why should they be made to pay -for Monsieur the Count d’Artois’ fêtes, and the queen’s follies? -Why consent to a debt ever accumulating, and acquiesce in -the ruin of France? Tell me that, my friend Matthias. -When the walls crack, we do not paste paper over the rents -to hide them—we dig down to the foundations, and we relay -them. Perhaps the Parliament of Paris thought this, my -André, so they appealed to the States-general. The States-general -we shall have; and then, Matthias, we, the oppressed, -the tax-payers, the hungry—we shall have a voice, and shall -speak out; and, Matthias! we shall make ourselves heard.’</p> - -<p>‘Go on,’ said the farmer; ‘tell me the rest.’</p> - -<p>‘The king declares that he will convoke the States-general.’</p> - -<p>‘We shall speak out?’ asked André, hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>‘Our own fault, if we do not.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span></p> - -<p>‘But they will punish us if we do.’</p> - -<p>‘What, Matthias, punish all France! Remember, all France -will speak.’</p> - -<p>‘And we can tell the good king that the tax-gatherers, and -the excise, and the nobles, and the abbés, are crushing us? -that they are strangling us, that we are dying?’</p> - -<p>‘Surely.’</p> - -<p>‘And the tax-gatherers, and the excise, and the nobles, -and the abbés, cannot revenge themselves on us for saying -that?’ André leaned back and laughed. He had not -laughed for many years, and his laugh now was not that -of gaiety.</p> - -<p>‘A storm is rising,’ said Percenez, pointing over the hill.</p> - -<p>‘Will the king listen to us?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, he will listen.’</p> - -<p>‘But will he redress our wrong?’</p> - -<p>‘We shall make him. He has put the means into our -hands.’</p> - -<p>The first roll of thunder was heard.</p> - -<p>‘We shall be relieved of the taxes, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gabelle</i>, the -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">corvée</i>?’</p> - -<p>‘I do not say that; but the taxes will be levied on all -alike.’</p> - -<p>‘What! will the abbé and the noble pay six sous a livre -for salt, and pay the taille?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span></p> - -<p>‘Certainly, we shall make them pay. We pay, so must -they.’</p> - -<p>Again André leaned back and exploded into laughter, whilst -from over the hill the forked lightnings darted, and the -thunder boomed.</p> - -<p>The two men watched the approach of the tempest. The -mutter of the thunder was now unceasing, and the vault was -illumined with continuous flashes.</p> - -<p>‘I must hasten home,’ said Etienne Percenez, ‘or my old -dame will die of fright at being alone in the storm.’</p> - -<p>‘And I will go in,’ said André. But he did not go in -at once; he stood in his door. As Percenez crossed the -foot-bridge, he heard his friend bellow. Thinking he was -calling, the little brown man turned his head; he saw that -André was laughing.</p> - -<p>‘I cannot help it,’ roared the peasant; ‘to think of the -nobles, the intendants, and the abbés, paying taxes!’ and -he roared again. Then he signed to Percenez.</p> - -<p>‘The storm is coming on.’</p> - -<p>‘Very, very fast,’ cried the other, beginning to run.</p> - -<p>Matthias went inside the house, and seated himself before -the fireless hearth, and listened to the wind growling round -the eaves. The rain splashed against the little window, glazed -with round panes. There was a leak in the roof, and through -it the water dribbled upon the floor of the bedroom overhead.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -It became so dark in the chamber, that Matthias -would have lit a candle, had not candles cost money. -The water swept down the window in waves; the house -trembled at each explosion of the thunder. Going to the -door, the peasant saw by the lightning no part of the landscape, -for the rain falling in sheets obscured everything. He -shut the door; the flashes dazzled him. Then he threw -himself down on a bench, and put his hands to his ears, -to shut out the detonations of the thunder, and began to -think about Necker and the States-general, and the probability -of the nobles and clergy paying taxes, and this idea still -presented itself to him in such a novel and ludicrous light, -that again he laughed aloud. All at once an idea of another -kind struck him, as his hand touched the floor and encountered -water. He leaped with a cry to his feet and splashed over -the floor. He rushed to the door. The darkness was clearing, -and by the returning light, as the rain began to cease, and -the surrounding hills to become visible, he observed every -lane converted into a torrent of brown fluid; the roads had -become watercourses, and were pouring turbid streams -through the gates into the fields and meadows. The -Charentonne had risen, and was rising every moment. The -water was level with the bridge which conducted into his -corn-field, and that was above the surface of the ground, for -it rested on a small circumvallation raised to protect the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -field from an overflow. For a moment he gazed at his wheat; -then he burst away through the sallows and willow-herbs -which grew densely together behind his cottage, drenching -himself to the skin, and for ever marring the crimson velvet -waistcoat; and struggled through the rising overflow and -dripping bushes to the south point of his isle, where usually -extended a gravelly spit. That was now submerged; he -plunged forward, parting the boughs, and reached a break -in the coppice, whence he could look up the valley. At -that moment the sun shot from the watery rack overhead, -and the bottom of the vale answered with a glare. Its green -meadows and yellow corn-fields were covered with a sheet of -glistening water, its surface streaked with ripples, pouring -relentlessly onwards, and lifting the water-line higher as each -broke. Clinging to a poplar, from which the drops shivered -about him, up to his middle in water, stood Matthias André, -stupefied with despair. Then slowly he turned, and worked -his way back.</p> - -<p>The few minutes of his absence had wrought a change. -His garden was covered, and the flood had dissolved or -overleaped the dyke of the corn-field, and was flowing around -his shocks of wheat.</p> - -<p>Nothing could possibly be done for the preservation of his -harvest. He stationed himself on the bench at his door, and -watched the water rise, and upset his sheaves, and float them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -off. Some went down the river, some congregated in an eddy, -and spun about; others accumulating behind them, wedged -them together, and formed a raft of straw.</p> - -<p>‘Go!’ shouted he to his corn-sheaves; ‘sodden and spoiled, -I care not if ye remain. Go! now I must starve outright, -and Gabrielle—she must starve too.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle!</p> - -<p>Instantly it occurred to him that she was at the church, and -would need protection and assistance in returning.</p> - -<p>He went inside and put on his coat, took a strong pole in -his hand, and bent his steps towards the foot-bridge. It was -not washed away, but it was under water. He felt for it with -the pole, found it, and crossed cautiously. Then he took the -road to La Couture. Many people met him. Recovered -from their alarm, their tongues were loosened, and they were -detailing their impressions of the storm to one another. André -accosted a neighbour, and asked him if he had seen Gabrielle. -He had not; but supposed she was behind;—many, he said, -were still in the churchyard, waiting for the flood to subside.</p> - -<p>Some old women, who lived in a cottage only a hundred -paces beyond the stile across which André strode into the road -from his islet, now came towards him.</p> - -<p>‘Neighbour Elizabeth, have you seen my child?’</p> - -<p>‘No, Gaffer André.’</p> - -<p>A little farther on he met a girl-friend of Gabrielle’s, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -white, with her wreath somewhat faded, and her candle extinguished.</p> - -<p>‘Josephine! where is my little one?’</p> - -<p>‘I do not know, father André; I have been looking for her -amongst the girls of our society, but I could not find her.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you think she is still in the church?’</p> - -<p>‘That may be, but I do not think it is likely; you know that -the lightning struck the spire.’</p> - -<p>‘Was any one killed?’</p> - -<p>‘No; but we were all dreadfully frightened.’</p> - -<p>Matthias pushed on. He questioned all who passed, but -could gain no tidings of Gabrielle. Several, it is true, had seen -her in the procession; some had noticed her in the church; -but none remembered to have observed her after the fall of the -lightning.</p> - -<p>André was not, however, alarmed. He thought that possibly -his daughter was still in church, praying; probably she was -with some friend in a cottage at La Couture. Gabrielle had -many acquaintances in that little village, and nothing was more -probable than that one of them should have invited the girl -home to rest, and take some refreshment, till it was ascertained -that the water had sufficiently subsided to permit of her return -to the Isle of Swallows.</p> - -<p>When he reached La Couture, he went direct to the church. -He was shocked to see the havoc created there by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -bursting of the storm; workmen were already engaged in -filling the graves that had been ploughed up by the currents, -and covering the coffins which had been exposed; head-crosses -lay prostrate and strewn about, and the sites of some -graves had completely disappeared. A knot of people stood -at the west end of the church, gazing at the ruin effected by -the lightning; the summit of the spire was cloven, a portion -leaned outward, the lead was curled up like a ram’s horn, and -a strip of the metal dissolved by the electric fluid exposed -the wooden rafters and framework of the spire. The stroke -had then glanced to the apex of the nave gable, thrown down -the iron cross surmounting it, had split the wall, shattered -the glass, and then had fallen upon and perforated the -threshold.</p> - -<p>Matthias André entered the church, and sought through its -chapels for his daughter. She was not there. No one was -in the sacred building.</p> - -<p>Then he entered the village, and visited one house after -another. No one had tidings to tell of Gabrielle. The father -became anxious. He enquired for the girl who had borne -the banner of the Blessed Virgin. He asked her about his -daughter, who had stood near her, holding the leading -ribbon.</p> - -<p>She had seen Gabrielle, of course she had, when they -entered the church; she sat near her in the aisle during vespers.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -When the storm came on, Gabrielle seemed to be greatly -alarmed; she must have fainted when the lightning fell, because -two gentlemen had carried her out of church.</p> - -<p>Whilst the girl spoke, she stood in the doorway of her -cottage, holding the trunk of a vine which was trellised over -the front of the house and a small open balcony, to which -a flight of stairs outside the dwelling gave access.</p> - -<p>The girl was the sister of Jean Lebertre, curé of the church, -and she kept house for her brother. During the conversation, -a priest stepped out of the upper room that opened on to the -balcony, and leaning his elbows on the wooden rail, looked -down on André.</p> - -<p>‘What is the matter?’ he asked.</p> - -<p>Matthias turned his face to the questioner. It was Lindet.</p> - -<p>‘I cannot discover what has become of my daughter, Monsieur -le Curé. Pauline, here, asserts that she fainted in church -at the great thunder-clap, and that she was carried out by two -gentlemen.’</p> - -<p>In a moment, Lindet strode down the stairs, and said, -looking fixedly with his bright eyes on the girl:</p> - -<p>‘Answer me, Pauline, who were those gentlemen?’</p> - -<p>‘I do not know, monsieur.’</p> - -<p>‘What were they like?’</p> - -<p>‘Ma foi! I was so dazzled that I hardly know.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you sure they were gentlemen?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span></p> - -<p>‘Oh, monsieur! of course they were. One had on a velvet -coat.’</p> - -<p>‘Of what colour?’</p> - -<p>‘Reddish-brown, I think.’</p> - -<p>‘And is that all you observed of him?’</p> - -<p>‘He wore a sword.’</p> - -<p>‘And the other?’</p> - -<p>‘The other gentleman was quite old.’</p> - -<p>‘Did you see the face of the first?’</p> - -<p>‘I think so.’</p> - -<p>‘And did you notice any peculiarity? Consider, Pauline.’</p> - -<p>‘His eyes were strange. The sockets seemed inflamed.’</p> - -<p>Lindet beat his hands together; André folded his arms -doggedly, and his chin sank on his breast, whilst a cloud -settled on his brow.</p> - -<p>‘That is enough,’ he said, in sullen tones; ‘I am going -home.’</p> - -<p>Lindet caught his arm.</p> - -<p>‘Are you going home, man?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I am tired. I have lost my crops, I have lost my -daughter, and, what is worst, I have spoilt my best waistcoat.’</p> - -<p>‘What! will you not make further enquiries? Your daughter -will be ruined,’ said Lindet, vehemently.</p> - -<p>‘Why make further enquiries? I know now where she is.’</p> - -<p>‘And will you make no effort to recover her?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span></p> - -<p>‘Why should I? I can do nothing. The poor cannot -resist the great. The storm came on just now, and the lightning -smote yon spire. Why did you not make an effort to -protect the spire? Because you were powerless against the -bolt of heaven. Well! that is why I make no attempt to protect -my child; what could I do to oppose the will of an -Intendant, a great man at Court, and very rich?’</p> - -<p>‘The child will be ruined. Make an attempt to save her.’</p> - -<p>André shook his head.</p> - -<p>‘No attempt I could make would save her; no attempt -I could make would save my corn either. I shall go home -and wipe my waistcoat; perhaps I may save <em>that</em> from utter -ruin.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat5"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Thomas Lindet</span> was not satisfied. Some effort must be -made to rescue the girl. If the father would not move, he -must. He started immediately for the château. He was an -impetuous man; what he resolved on doing he did at once, -as quickly as he could.</p> - -<p>In half an hour he was at the Château Malouve.</p> - -<p>The house was small and modern. It stood by itself, with -the woods for a background, on the slope of the hill, facing -south-east. The ground before it fell rapidly away towards -the valley, and was in field and pasture. A terrace had been -formed in front of the house, with a pond in the midst, and -a triton to spout water from a conch-shell. But as the château -occupied high ground, and there was little water on a higher -level, the triton maintained in wet weather an inconsiderable -dribble, which not even the storm of that day could convert -into a jet; but in hot weather it was dry.</p> - -<p>The château was flanked by two square blocks, the roofs -of which were capped with tower-roofs and weathercocks. -The body of the building had the high exaggerated roof of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -Louis XIV’s time, pierced with attic louvres. Every window -was provided with emerald green shutters, and the walls being -of a chalky whiteness, the house had a gay and smiling appearance.</p> - -<p>M. Berthier had a large house in Paris, in which he resided -the major portion of the year, only visiting Malouve in the -summer for a month or two.</p> - -<p>At the back of the château was a yard, one side occupied -by stables, another by servants’ offices; access to this yard was -obtained through an iron gate painted green and gold, set -in a lofty iron railing, very gay with paint, very strong and -insurmountable, the spikes at the summit being split and contorted -so as to form a pretty, but, at the same time, an eminently -practical chevaux-de-frise.</p> - -<p>As Thomas Lindet approached the gate, two hounds rushed -out of their kennels before the coach-house door, and barked -furiously. One was chained, but the other, by accident, had -got loose, the staple which fastened the chain having given -way; and the brute now flew to the gates, dragging the clanking -links after him, and leaped against the iron bars.</p> - -<p>The shovel hat and black cassock were an unusual sight to -the dog, and the costume of the priest excited it to a pitch -of fury. First it set its head down, with the paws extended, -rolled back its lips exposing the pink gums and white fangs, -and growled; then it leaped up the iron rails, as though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -desirous of scrambling over them, started back, barked -furiously; its chained brother assisting vociferously. The -eyes of the hound became bloodshot. It flung itself again -and again at the gate, it ran along the line of rails, leaping -on the dwarf wall in which they were fixed, and slipping -instantly off it, scrambling up again, and catching at the bars -with its teeth, searching along the whole length for a gap, -through which it could force its way; sometimes thrusting -its head between the rods, and then, nipped by them, becoming -more furious; racing back to the great gates, scraping at the -earth under them with intent to burrow a way to get at the -priest, but always unsuccessful.</p> - -<p>Lindet rang the great bell.</p> - -<p>A rakish-looking footman opened the glass doors of the -house, looked out and called ‘Poulet! Poulet!’ to the hound, -but it paid no attention, so the footman sauntered to the -stable and then to the coach-house, in search of a groom. -As he passed the kennel, he kept at some distance from the -chained dog, but addressed it in a conciliatory tone—‘Eh -bien! Pigeon, mon ami! Soyez tranquil, cher Pigeon.’ But -the Pigeon paid no more attention to this advice than did -the Chicken to his calls.</p> - -<p>Not being able to find the groom, the footman leisurely -visited the garden, and called, not too loudly, ‘Gustave!’ -Gustave, the gardener, having at last turned up, a little conversation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -ensued between him and Adolphe, the footman, -which ended in both appearing in the court, and making -towards the hound from opposite quarters, Adolphe keeping -unduly in the rear.</p> - -<p>Having approached the dog—which by this time had worked -itself into a mad rage, apparently quite ungovernable—within -such distance as Gustave, on one side, and Adolphe on the -other, respectively thought consistent with prudence, ‘Come -on, my brave fellow, excellent dog, worthy hound, trustiest -of chickens!’ called Adolphe, ‘come, don’t be a naughty child. -Come, be docile once more, and all shall be forgotten.’</p> - -<p>‘Come this way, you rascal!’ roared Gustave authoritatively, -‘come and let me chain you up, or, sapristi! I’ll dash your -brains out, I’ll tear the liver out of you, I’ll poke your red -eyes out, I’ll cut off your bloodthirsty tongue. Sacré! I give -you three minutes by the clock, and, ventre gris! if you -don’t obey me, I’ll be the death of you. Come, you insolent, -audacious ruffian. Come this moment!’</p> - -<p>But the dog paid not the slightest attention to the entreaties -of Adolphe and the threats of Gustave.</p> - -<p>Lindet folded his arms, and looked on the men contemptuously. -They were both afraid of the hound, but pretended -that they were not.</p> - -<p>‘You must give him rein,’ said Adolphe; ‘he will exhaust -himself, and the poulet will be an angel once more.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p> - -<p>‘Not for a moment,’ roared Gustave; ‘suffer that demon -an inch of liberty; never! He shall be chained to a block -of stone,—he shall not move a paw, he shall not open his -mouth, he shall not wink an eye. He shall have no meat -for a thousand days, till the devil in him is expelled!’</p> - -<p>‘I will fetch the dear fellow a sponge-cake. I know he -loves sweets, do you not, my Poulet? And above all sweets, -sponge-cake; yes, in one moment! Be gentle till my return.’</p> - -<p>‘I will get my double-weighted whip, with lead in it, and -fifty thousand knots in the lash, and nails in each knot, and -the nails rusty, and crooked, and spiked. Ah! ha! they will -make the devil jump; they will make the devil bleed! -Sapristi! I will cut and chop and mangle his accursed -hide.’</p> - -<p>‘Bah!’ said a creaky voice.</p> - -<p>M. Foulon was there. He had heard the noise, which was -indeed deafening, and had descended to the yard from his -room. He was in his brown topcoat, and the little wiry -pigtail with its huge bow protruded over it like a monstrous -dragon-fly that had alighted on his collar.</p> - -<p>‘Bah! you are three fools,’ said he; then, drawing his -great gold snuff-box from his breast pocket, he poured some -of the dust into his hand, snuffed it up himself, strewing his -face with particles of tobacco, then he emptied half that remained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -in the box into his hand, and walked leisurely up to -Poulet.</p> - -<p>‘Eh bien, Poulet!’ said he, with a tone of mingled banter -and defiance. The hound turned its head instantly, snarled, -cowered, and the old man flung the snuff into its face.</p> - -<p>‘Now you may go and wink and sneeze your superfluous -spirits away, you chicken, you!’ Foulon continued; ‘now you -may go to your darling brother Pigeon, and you may tell -him that you do not like snuff, that snuff is expensive, because -of the excise; that we have a monopoly of tobacco, and that -the revenue gains by tobacco. Do you understand, Poulet? -Well, go and tell Pigeon all about it. Here, I will help you.’ -He caught the end of the chain, and drew the dog after -him to its kennel. The brute’s attention was engrossed by -its own distress, the snuff in its eyes blinded it, the snuff -up its nose afflicted it with sneezing, and down its throat -choked it.</p> - -<p>Foulon called to Gustave for a hammer. Adolphe ran -with alacrity to look for one, Gustave brought one. The -old man calmly snuffed again, then took the hammer and -riveted the staple. ‘Now, then, you rascal,’ said he, turning -abruptly upon the footman; ‘do you not see that you have -left Monsieur le Curé outside the gate? How thoughtless, -how unmannerly!’</p> - -<p>Adolphe bounded to the railing and unlocked the iron<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -gate. Thomas Lindet walked past him, and went straight -towards Monsieur Foulon.</p> - -<p>The old gentleman removed his hat and bowed courteously; -the priest, absorbed in the purpose of his visit, had forgotten -these courtesies. He now bent towards Foulon stiffly, and -raised his shovel hat.</p> - -<p>‘You have done me an honour I never hoped to have -enjoyed. This day you have made me a proud man; hitherto -I have been humble. Beware, my dear curé, or you will blow -me up into extravagant conceit.’</p> - -<p>Lindet looked at him with surprise.</p> - -<p>‘You did me the honour of preaching an observation I made -within your hearing to my excellent son-in-law, the good -Berthier. I did not know that my remarks were so valuable, -so deserving of repetition.’</p> - -<p>‘I have come to speak of quite another matter,’ said Lindet.</p> - -<p>‘Indeed! I thought your visit was one of congratulation -to the poor old man, Foulon, on having made a shrewd and -pertinent remark at last—at last, after so many years of -stupidity, Foulon has given promise of being witty and wise. -But allow me to observe that you did not give my remarks -exactly as they were made. Not that a word or two is of -consequence, but still accuracy is a point—a point, you understand, -we revenue farmers learn to appreciate.’</p> - -<p>‘Sir, I came here——’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span></p> - -<p>‘Pardon me, my dear curé, we will stick to the point. The -expressions I used were these. “Bah!—” you did not render -that interjection in your version. Now, that interjection is -expressive; besides, it is characteristic; I always use it. Well, -I said, “Bah! if the peasants are hungry, let them browse -grass. Wait till I am minister, I will make them eat hay; -my horses eat hay.” You left out the words “wait till I am -minister.” Be exact, my good friend; exactness is a virtue.’</p> - -<p>‘M. Foulon, I have come here——’</p> - -<p>‘One moment, my good curé; here is a little lesson of -Christian forgiveness for you to take home with you. This -day you desired to turn loose these hungry peasants on me; -this day I have chained up a savage bloodhound that was -ravening to be at your throat. Now, what have you to say?’</p> - -<p>‘I want to know where is the girl Gabrielle André, whom -your son-in-law, M. Berthier, and you, M. Foulon, carried out -of church this afternoon?’</p> - -<p>‘Bah! I am ashamed of my good, model curé. He is as -bad as we naughty laymen, and runs after pretty girls and -petticoats.’</p> - -<p>Lindet clenched his hands and teeth.</p> - -<p>‘She is your charming niece, is she not? Ah, ha! my sad -scapegrace of a curé!’</p> - -<p>‘M. Foulon, I will not have this,’ said the priest, passionately; -‘this insult is intolerable.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span></p> - -<p>‘Then you can always leave the court,’ answered the old -man; ‘see! the door is open. But we will not quarrel. -Come along into the hall and have some refreshment.’</p> - -<p>Lindet stamped. The imperturbable coolness and insolence -of the old gentleman exasperated his fiery spirit.</p> - -<p>‘Come, come, cool down,’ said Foulon; ‘I did not mean -to irritate you. Is the girl your relative?’</p> - -<p>‘No.’</p> - -<p>‘Of course, then, she is one of your parishioners?’</p> - -<p>‘No, she is not.’</p> - -<p>‘Then, pardon me, but I am surprised at your taking so -much trouble, and running the risk of being torn to pieces -by those villanous dogs, to make enquiries about her. I will -answer all your enquiries with the utmost frankness, if you -can assure me that her father authorized you to come here -and demand her.’</p> - -<p>Lindet’s face became crimson. He bit his lips with vexation. -That he was completely at the old man’s mercy, he felt; and -he was conscious that the revenue-farmer was making him -ridiculous.</p> - -<p>‘I insist on knowing whether the girl is here. I know her -father and her, and I have a perfect right to make these -enquiries. I now ask to see her. You dare not keep her -here against her father’s and her own will.’</p> - -<p>‘You are the most inconsequent of curés,’ exclaimed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -Foulon, laughing gently; ‘you ask to see her, and you ask -at the same time whether she is here. I neither say that she is -here, nor that she is not here. As to your seeing her, that is -out of the question. If she be not here, how can I show -her to you? If she be here, I do not bring the chambermaids -into the courtyard to receive pastoral exhortations.’</p> - -<p>Whilst speaking with Lindet, the old gentleman had moved -slowly towards the gates of the yard: Lindet had followed -him, without observing whither he was conducting him. Thus -Foulon had drawn him outside the rails. Now, having finished -this last insulting speech, spoken with an air of politeness and -cordiality, he suddenly turned on his heel, stepped within, -slammed and locked the iron gates of the enclosure, leaving -Lindet without.</p> - -<p>The curé attempted to speak again; but Foulon retired, -waving his hand and hat, and bowing courteously. Then -he made the circuit of the house, in hopes of finding -another door, but was baffled. It is true there was a small -door in a high wall, which led into the garden, but it was -fastened from within. The terrace was so raised, being built -up from the slope, that it could not be reached, and on every -other side the château was enclosed by walls and rails.</p> - -<p>Lindet wasted a few minutes in making the round of the -premises, feeling all the while that he should be at a loss -what course to pursue, even if he did penetrate once more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -within. At last he desisted and retired, satisfied that the -only person who could claim access to the girl, with any -chance of obtaining it, was her father; and Lindet was convinced -that he could not be stimulated to make the attempt.</p> - -<p>Had Lindet accompanied André home to les Hirondelles, -instead of rashly going himself in quest of Gabrielle, he would -have done her a greater service.</p> - -<p>When Matthias André returned to les Hirondelles, he found -that the water had subsided almost as rapidly as it had risen. -The plank-bridge was no longer submerged, and the garden -and house were clear. The corn-field presented the appearance -of a large pond, but that was because the dyke retained -the water; there being no gap in it, there was no -drainage.</p> - -<p>To his amazement, he saw M. Berthier seated at his door. -André scowled at him, but deferentially removed his bonnet.</p> - -<p>‘Good evening, man!’ said the Intendant, nodding, but not -rising from his seat. ‘Your name is Matthias André, is it -not?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, monsieur.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! your daughter was at the church this afternoon?’</p> - -<p>‘She was, monsieur, and I cannot find her——’</p> - -<p>‘I know, I know,’ interrupted Berthier; ‘I can tell you more -about her than you could tell me.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur, I heard that you and your honoured father-in-law<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -had removed her from the church, when she fainted during the -thunderstorm.’</p> - -<p>‘You heard aright,’ said Berthier. ‘There was evident -danger in remaining within. The spire might fall at any -moment and bury those in the church under its ruins. We -saw a girl near us fall, and thinking she had been injured by -the lightning, we carried her out and transported her to my -house. We did not know where was her home. She is now -with my wife, Madame Berthier, who has taken great interest -in her.’</p> - -<p>André remained standing before him with his eyes on the -ground. He knew that Berthier was deceiving him, and the -Intendant did not care to do more than give his account of -what had really taken place, a superficially plausible colour.</p> - -<p>‘I see your wheat is under water,’ said the stout gentleman, -pointing with his thumb towards the submerged field, and then, -drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he twisted the corner -into a little screw and ran it round the lids of his eyes in -succession.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, monsieur, all my crop is destroyed.’</p> - -<p>‘And what have you to subsist upon now?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing!’</p> - -<p>‘Can you pay the tax?’</p> - -<p>‘I do not know.’</p> - -<p>‘Have you any money laid by, to help you out of your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -difficulties? Of course, in prosperous times, you have put -aside a nice sum to fall back upon?’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur! how can a peasant lay by? The revenue -absorbs all his profits, and leaves him barely enough for his -subsistence. He may live in times of plenty; in times of -scarcity he must die.’</p> - -<p>‘Then what do you intend doing?’</p> - -<p>Matthias shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>‘All depends on the winter. I have a few potatoes. I must -sell this wet corn—it will all be mouldy—for what it will fetch. -Ah! if I could have garnered it three days ago, or even yesterday. -I shall starve.’ He groaned.</p> - -<p>‘And your daughter will starve with you!’</p> - -<p>André answered with a scowl.</p> - -<p>‘Do you owe any money?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes; I owe Jacob Maître, the usurer, four hundred crowns.’</p> - -<p>‘You cannot pay him?’</p> - -<p>‘No. I have been in debt a long while; he threatens, and -I had hoped to pay him off a part this year.’</p> - -<p>‘And now he must wait?’</p> - -<p>‘He will not wait.’</p> - -<p>‘How so?’</p> - -<p>‘He will put me in prison.’</p> - -<p>‘And whilst you are in prison, what will your daughter -do?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span></p> - -<p>‘God knows!’ André bowed his head lower, and began -to mutter to himself.</p> - -<p>‘What are you saying?’ asked the Intendant.</p> - -<p>‘Nothing,’ answered the peasant, doggedly.</p> - -<p>‘But I will hear,’ said Berthier.</p> - -<p>‘I said if God would not provide, then the devil must.’</p> - -<p>‘Goodman André, that is a somewhat shocking sentiment. -Besides, it is not altogether true; there may be a half measure, -you know. Now madame, my wife,—a very worthy, pious -woman—a little of heaven one way, but a deuced black and -ugly one—a little of hell the other way,—she is the person to -do it. She has commissioned me to ask you to allow her -to retain your child as her servant. That is her message. -She wants an active girl to wait upon her, and she has taken -a fancy to your daughter. I do not interfere in household -matters—understand that—but my good wife, being unable, -or disinclined, to come here and see you on the subject, has -persuaded me to do her work. I am goodnatured, I am fat; -fat people are always goodnatured, so I yield to my wife -in everything. I am her slave—her factotum. It is a pity -to be goodnatured; one is imposed upon, even by the best -of wives.’</p> - -<p>André did not speak; through the corner of his eyes he was -contemplating his submerged corn-field. He knew still that -Berthier was deceiving him, and he was calculating the chances<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -of the approaching winter. Would his potatoes last, even if -Jacob Maître did not come down upon him? Would not the -usurer seize on everything,—his cow, his horse, his cart, his -potatoes, his bed and furniture, his very clothes?</p> - -<p>Berthier took some money out of his pocket, and made -twelve little heaps on the seat beside him.</p> - -<p>‘What do you say to me, in my generosity, giving you six -months’ wage for your girl in advance? This is very reckless -of me, because I really do not know whether she will suit -madame or not. Madame is capricious, she sometimes sends -away a dozen servants in the year. However, as you are in -great distress, and I am constitutionally liberal—fat people are -always liberal—I say, well, I will risk it. You shall have six -months’ wage in advance, and the wage is good; it is high, -very high. Count.’</p> - -<p>André touched one of the little heaps with his finger, and -upset the silver pieces, that he might reckon their number; -then he counted the heaps, and multiplied the sum in one by -six; then he doubled that.</p> - -<p>He would not speak yet.</p> - -<p>Berthier substituted gold for some of the silver. Rarely had -gold passed through the peasant’s fingers. He took the piece -up in his trembling palm, turned it over, and looked at it -fixedly. His hand shook as with the palsy, and the gold piece -fell from it into the mud. André’s brow became beaded with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -perspiration. He stooped, and picking it up hastily, went to -a pitcher and washed it reverently, and then replaced it on the -bench.</p> - -<p>‘Well, man!’ said the Intendant, taking his pocket-handkerchief -and spreading it on his knee. It was stained.</p> - -<p>Matthias moodily entered the stable, produced a pick, and -walked into his potato-croft. Berthier stared after him, uncertain -whether by this action he designed in his boorish manner -to express his determination to break off the transaction. -Matthias began to dig up a row of potatoes, and Berthier -saw him take up the roots, and count the tubers on each, and -measure them with his eye.</p> - -<p>Presently he returned with a lap-full; these he measured in -a bushel, and made a rough calculation of the number he -should gather from his little croft.</p> - -<p>The gloom on his face became deeper. Then he went into -the cow-house and remained there a few minutes. After that -he entered the little orchard of some dozen trees, and estimated -the yield of apples; then he returned to the house, opened -the clothes-chest, and threw all the articles of wearing apparel -on the table and bench, and made a mental valuation of them. -There were some silver ornaments,—round perforated buttons -and a brooch that Gabrielle wore on great fêtes; an heirloom. -The peasant was unable to estimate their value, so he brought -them out to the Intendant, and said, sulkily:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span></p> - -<p>‘What are these worth?’</p> - -<p>Berthier weighed them in his hand, laughed, and said:</p> - -<p>‘The value of the silver is trifling—five or eight francs, at the -outside.’</p> - -<p>The wretched father carried them back into the house.</p> - -<p>Presently he came out in a vacillating, uneasy way—his -mind hardly made up.</p> - -<p>‘You promise me that it is only madame who will have anything -to do with my Gabrielle?’ he said.</p> - -<p>‘I promise you that! of course I will. She will be with -madame night and day; will scarcely be out of her sight. -Will that content you?’</p> - -<p>André still mused, and refrained from giving a decided -answer.</p> - -<p>Just then he caught sight of the money-lender, Jacob Maître, -a short-built, red-whiskered and bearded man, with thick overhanging -red brows, standing on the dyke, contemplating the -havoc made in André’s field by the flood.</p> - -<p>That sight determined him. He bent, gathered up six of -the heaps of silver between his palms, rushed with it into his -cottage, and bolted the door.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat6"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">After</span> Berthier had seen Gabrielle safely locked up in one -of the towers that formed the extremities of his house, at -Foulon’s advice he had visited the Isle des Hirondelles.</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier had returned from the church, and was -in her own chamber, at the farther end of the house.</p> - -<p>This unhappy woman was Foulon’s daughter; towards her -he had never shown the least paternal love. Possibly it was -not in his nature to exhibit love. She had never been beautiful, -having inherited her father’s hatchet-face; in addition to -her plainness was her colour; her complexion was of an ashen -blue-grey, the result of having taken much nitrate of silver -medicinally. Her plainness and her complexion being neither -of them attractive, Berthier made no pretence of loving her, -and Foulon did not exact it of him. Berthier, the Intendant, -or Sheriff of Paris, a man of humble extraction, being descended -from a race of provincial attorneys, had worked his -way into prominence and power by his shrewdness and unscrupulousness. -He had married Foulon’s daughter for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -sake of some money she inherited from her mother, but chiefly -in hopes of one day possessing his father-in-law’s large -fortune.</p> - -<p>Foulon had begun his career as an intendant of the army, -and had amassed immense wealth by victualling badly and -charging high. The soldiers fasted or fed on garbage, that -Foulon might fatten. He was both a contractor for the army, -and one of the commission appointed to watch and check the -contractors.</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier was naturally a woman of a warm and -affectionate disposition; but meeting with no response from -her husband or her father, and, through repeated humiliations -to which she was subjected by her profligate husband, all that -warmth had accumulated into a fire which burned in her -bosom, consuming her, disturbing her intellect, and wrecking -her constitution.</p> - -<p>She was a tall thin woman, dressed wholly in black. Her -hair was grey, a silvery grey, contrasting painfully with the -blue-grey of her face. Her large hazel eyes were clear and -bright, but their brilliance was unnatural, and impressed a -stranger with a conviction that they betokened a mental condition -on the borders of insanity.</p> - -<p>Her sitting-room was quite square, with a window to the -east, another to the west, and a third to the south. It was -painted yellow throughout; the curtains were of orange<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -damask, and a patch of yellow rug occupied the centre of -the polished floor.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this chamber sat Madame Berthier, making -cat’s cradles, her favourite amusement, and one with which -she would occupy herself during long hours of loneliness. -By constant practice she was able to accomplish all the usual -changes with the threads very rapidly, and she was frequently -puzzling out new arrangements with an interest and application -completely engrossing.</p> - -<p>On her shoulders couched a Persian cat, of great size, with -long hair. It had been white originally, but Madame Berthier -had dyed it saffron; the saffron stains were on her grey hands, -as she wrought with her threads. The appearance of the cat -was unpleasant, for being by nature an Albino, its eyes were -pink, and they seemed unnaturally faint, when contrasted with -the vivid colouring of its coat. The cat sat very composedly -on her shoulder, with its round yellow face against hers, and -its paws dangling on her bosom.</p> - -<p>‘Be patient, Gabriel,’ said she to the cat, who moved uneasily -on her shoulder, as his quick ear caught the sound -of steps in the corridor. ‘We must all acquire patience; -it is a heavenly virtue, but it is, oh! so hard to obtain.’</p> - -<p>Berthier tapped at the door, opened it, and introduced himself -and Gabrielle.</p> - -<p>The cat rose, balancing itself nicely where it had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -reposing, set up its back and tail, stretched itself, and then -re-settled.</p> - -<p>‘Well now, madame,’ said Monsieur Berthier; ‘making -cradles still, I see.’</p> - -<p>The lady worked vigorously with her threads, and did not -look up or answer her husband.</p> - -<p>‘Look this way, Madame Plomb.’</p> - -<p>She threw up her head, bit her lower lip, and stamped her -foot impatiently. As her eye lit on Gabrielle it remained -fixed, and her complexion became more deadly.</p> - -<p>‘I have brought a new servant to attend on you,’ continued -Berthier. ‘Are you listening to me, Madame Plomb?’</p> - -<p>Again she stamped, but she would not speak.</p> - -<p>‘You will take great care of her, my Angel! and you will -pay especial regard to her morals, mind that, my Beauty! I -have promised her father that she shall be under your charge, -and that you shall take care that she be virtuous and -pious.’</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier would neither look at him, nor speak -to him. He knew that she struggled daily with herself to -maintain composure, and to restrain her tongue, in his -presence, and he amused himself inventing a thousand means -of insulting and irritating her, till he had wrought her into -frenzy.</p> - -<p>‘I am sure you will like this new addition to your little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -staff,’ continued the Intendant, placing his large hands on -Gabrielle’s shoulders, and thrusting her forward.</p> - -<p>The girl cowered under his touch, and an expression of -horror and loathing passed across her face. Madame Berthier, -whose eyes were fastened on her, saw this and laughed -aloud.</p> - -<p>‘What! not a word for your Zoozoo! Cruel madame, not -to look at, or speak to, your own devoted husband.’</p> - -<p>No; not a look or a word. The poor wife sought to ignore -him. She began diligently to weave her cat’s cradles, though -her eyes still rested on Gabrielle. Maybe she trembled a little, -for the yellow cat mewed fretfully, and shifted its position -slightly, then rubbed its head against her blue cheek, as if -beseeching not to be disturbed.</p> - -<p>‘This little mignonne is a gem—a beauty of the first water. -You must be very careful of her; such pretty little faces would -bewitch half mankind. Look, madame! what a ripe luscious -tint, what a rich and glowing complexion, like a peach, is it -not? It is flesh—actually warm, soft, rosy flesh; it is not -<em>lead</em>.’</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier uttered a cry at this coarse insult, and -covered her face with her hands.</p> - -<p>‘You should wear gloves, Madame Plomb,’ continued her -husband, ‘and then you might cover your face with some -prospect of concealing your complexion. But what do I see?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -You have been dyeing your hands with saffron. Actually trying -to gild lead.’</p> - -<p>The wretched woman threw down her cat, sprang to her feet -and fled out of the room, down the corridor which extended -the length of the house, from one tower to the other. She -was caught almost instantly in her father’s arms.</p> - -<p>‘How now!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘How is this, my -little Imogène? In a pet! one of your little naughty tantrums! -Naughty Imogène!’</p> - -<p>‘My father!’ cried the unhappy woman, ‘why did you marry -me to that man?’</p> - -<p>‘Tut, tut,’ said M. Foulon, disengaging himself from her. -‘You ask me that so often, that I am obliged to formularize -my answers and your questions into a sort of catechism. -How does it begin? Ah! Where were you married? <em>Answer</em>: -At S. Sulpice. Who by? <em>Answer</em>: By Father Mafitte. What -were you asked? <em>Answer</em>: Wilt thou have this man to thy -wedded husband? <em>Answer</em>: I will. Now, then, whose doing -was it that you were married to Monsieur Berthier? Why, your -own, child!’</p> - -<p>‘Father, take me away.’</p> - -<p>‘Imogène, what nonsense! May I offer you my arm to -conduct you back to your yellow chamber?’</p> - -<p>‘Father,’ she wrung her hands, ‘he insults me.’</p> - -<p>‘He has his little jokes about your complexion, eh? Bah!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -you should not be such a baby as to mind his playful banter. -He is a boy, gay at heart, and very facetious.’</p> - -<p>‘It is not that,’ moaned the wretched woman; ‘he brings -young girls here,—and I his wife have to receive them, and—— Oh, -father! take me away, or I shall go raging mad!’</p> - -<p>‘Bah! young men will be young men—not that Berthier is -such a youth, either! You must not exact too much. Look -at your face in the glass, and then say,—can he find much -satisfaction therein? Is it not natural that the butterfly should -seek brighter and fairer flowers?’</p> - -<p>‘You have no heart.’</p> - -<p>‘Imogène, I never pretended to possess those gushing sentiments -which make fools of men and women. I am a man of -reason, not sentiment. I have no passions. You never saw me -angry, jealous, loving,—never! I think, I reason, I calculate, I -do not feel and sympathize; I am all intelligence, not emotion. -Bah! Take things coolly. Say to yourself, What is reasonable? -Is it reasonable that Berthier should profess ardent -passion for me, who am plain and blue? No, it is preposterous; -therefore I acquiesce in what is natural.’</p> - -<p>‘You take his part against me.’</p> - -<p>‘I take the part of common sense, Imogène. I cannot say -to Berthier, be a hypocrite, go against nature. I always accept -human nature as I find it, and I never attempt to force the -stream into a channel too strait for it.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></p> - -<p>Madame Berthier stood looking from side to side distractedly. -‘I find no help anywhere!’ she moaned.</p> - -<p>‘Imogène, you have plenty to eat, good wine to drink, first-rate -cookery; you employ an accomplished milliner; your -rooms are handsomely furnished; you can drive out when -it pleases you. What more <em>can</em> you want?’</p> - -<p>‘Love,’ answered the poor woman. ‘I am always hungry. -I am always in pain here,’ she pointed to her breast; ‘I want, -I want, I want, and I never get what I desire.’ Then uttering -another cry, like that which had escaped her when her husband -insulted her, and running along the corridor from side to side, -like a bird striving to escape, she beat the walls on this side, then -on that, with her hands, uttering at intervals her piercing wail.</p> - -<p>Berthier came into the corridor and joined his father-in-law. -‘There is nothing more offensive to persons of sentiment than -fact,’ said Foulon, brushing the tobacco from his nose and -cheeks. ‘Before fact down go Religion, Poetry, Ethics, Art. -People live in a dream-world, which they people with phantoms. -Show them that all is a delusion, and they are wretched—they -love to be deceived. Bah! I hate sentiment. It is on sentiment -that Religion and Morality are based. What is sentiment? -On my honour, I cannot tell.’</p> - -<p>On reaching the end of the corridor, Madame Berthier stood -still, and turning towards her husband and father, she raised -her hands, and cried, as she did in church:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span></p> - -<p>‘Avenge me on my adversaries!’</p> - -<p>Then, becoming calmer, she called:</p> - -<p>‘Gabriel!’ For the cat was standing at her door, and -was mewing. The strangely-dyed beast, hearing her call, darted -past the two men, and seating itself before her, looked up into -her face.</p> - -<p>‘My faithful Gabriel!’ she said. Then with a single -bound it reached her shoulder, and placing its fore paws -together balanced itself, whilst she walked slowly up the -passage. The appearance of the woman in the dusk, in her -long black gown and shawl, with her frightful head on one -side to give room for the cat to stand comfortably, was wild -and ghostly.</p> - -<p>She approached her husband and her father slowly. As she -passed them, she turned her face towards Foulon, and said: -‘I have looked to you for help,’ she touched him with her -stained finger. ‘I have looked to you for help,’ she touched -Berthier on the breast, turning to him; ‘I find none.’ Throwing -her hand up and pointing out of the window towards -the evening star, that glittered above the horizon,—‘Queen of -heaven, I have looked to you! And,’ she continued in a low -voice, hoarse with suppressed emotion, ‘if she gives me none, -I shall seek help in myself.’</p> - -<p>‘That is sensible, Imogène,’ said Foulon; ‘one should find -resources in one’s self.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span></p> - -<p>‘Mind,’ she said, sharply; ‘I ask for love. If I do not get -it, I take revenge.’ Then she swept into her room, and -shut the door.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle was there in her white dress and veil, scarcely -less pale than her garments. The roses in her wreath -exhaled a strong odour as they faded. She stood where -she had been placed by Berthier, nearly in the middle of -the room. The evening was rapidly closing in. The sun -had set, but through the west window the light from the -horizon glimmered.</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier threw herself into a seat and looked -at Gabrielle.</p> - -<p>‘Are you a bride?’ she asked, in a harsh voice.</p> - -<p>‘No, madame,’ answered the girl, trembling.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! no. You were one of those in procession to-day.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, madame.’</p> - -<p>‘How came you here?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I think I fainted at the thunderclap, and I -remember no more, till I was brought through the yard -into this house.’</p> - -<p>‘Have you been here before?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I have been to the Chateau sometimes with -my roses.’</p> - -<p>‘What roses?’</p> - -<p>‘The bunches that I sell.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span></p> - -<p>‘Then you are the flower-girl, are you, whom I have seen -at the gate sometimes?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, madame.’</p> - -<p>‘Why have you been brought here, do you know?’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle burst into tears, threw herself on her knees, and -stretching out her hands towards the lady entreated:—‘Oh -madame, dear, good madame! send me home, pray -let me out of this dreadful house. Madame, I want to go -home to my father; pray, good madame, for the love of Our -Lady!’</p> - -<p>‘Child,’ said Berthier’s wife, ‘are you not here by free -choice?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh no, no!’ cried Gabrielle. ‘Only let me go, that I -may run home.’</p> - -<p>‘Where do you live?’</p> - -<p>‘At Les Hirondelles.’</p> - -<p>‘What is your name?’</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle André.’</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, madame.’</p> - -<p>The strange woman uttered a scream of joy; caught her -cat in her hands, and held it up before the girl.</p> - -<p>‘See, see!’ she said; ‘this is Gabriel, my own precious -Gabriel!’</p> - -<p>She softened towards the poor child at once.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span></p> - -<p>‘Come nearer,’ she said. ‘What have you let fall? Ah! -your taper. They brought that with you, did they?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I think I had it fast in my hand.’</p> - -<p>‘Wait,’ said the lady. She struck a light, and kindled the -taper, which Gabrielle had raised from the floor.</p> - -<p>‘Just so,’ continued she; ‘hold the light before you, and -remain kneeling, that I may see your face; but do not kneel -to me; see! turn yonder, towards the western sky, and the -dying light, and the evening star.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle slightly shifted her position, too frightened to do -anything except obey mechanically.</p> - -<p>‘You are very pretty,’ said Madame Berthier. ‘How very -beautiful you are! Do you know that?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame!’ Gabrielle was too much alarmed to colour.</p> - -<p>‘Now, tell me, do you know M. Berthier?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, madame!’ the girl said, with a sob, as her tears began -to flow; ‘I dread him most of all. He frightens me. He is -wicked; he pursues me with his eyes. Father had just promised -that I should never come to this house again, because, -because——’ she was interrupted by her tears.</p> - -<p>‘Go on, Gabrielle.’</p> - -<p>‘Because he ran after me in the forest, and the curé saved -me from him, just as he caught me up.’</p> - -<p>‘You do not like Berthier; I saw it in your face.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, madame! how could I?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span></p> - -<p>The lady laughed a little, chuckling to herself. Presently -she addressed Gabrielle again.</p> - -<p>‘Do you know me?’</p> - -<p>‘No, madame.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you know my name?’</p> - -<p>‘You are called Madame Plomb,’ said Gabrielle, hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>The woman stamped passionately on the floor, and jerked -the yellow cat off her shoulder.</p> - -<p>‘Who told you that? Why do you call me that?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, madame! I am so sorry, but I heard Monsieur Berthier -address you by that name. I meant no offence.’</p> - -<p>‘Listen to me, child.’ The lady drew her chair towards -Gabrielle. ‘Give me your light.’ She snatched the taper from -her trembling hand, and waved it before her face. ‘Look on -me,’ she said; ‘yes, look, look. Now you know why they call -me the Leaden!’ She blew out the candle, and continued: -‘It is only those who hate me who call me by that name; only -those, remember, whom I hate. Beware how you call me -that again.’</p> - -<p>She leaned back, and remained silent for some minutes. -Gabrielle’s tears flowed fast, and she sobbed heavily. She -was not only frightened, but weary and faint, and sick at -heart.</p> - -<p>‘Shall I protect you?’ asked the lady, at length.</p> - -<p>‘Madame! I pray you,’ pleaded Gabrielle, through her tears.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span></p> - -<p>‘Then I will. He shall not touch you. You shall sleep -in my little ante-room.’</p> - -<p>‘May I not go home?’</p> - -<p>‘Alas! poor child, how can you? The gates and doors are -locked. The walls are high; and if you scaled the walls, -the bloodhounds would be after you. Perhaps you may go -home soon, but not now; you cannot now!’</p> - -<p>After another pause, she said:</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle, stand up.’</p> - -<p>The girl instantly rose.</p> - -<p>‘Gabriel, Gabrielle, my cat and you! I love my cat, why -not you? Will you kiss me?’</p> - -<p>Passionately she caught the girl to her bosom, and kissed -her brow and lips and cheek. Then laughing, she said:</p> - -<p>‘Yes! Gabrielle, you must be here awhile, and you shall -hold the threads, and help to make cat’s cradles.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat7"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> moon, in her first quarter, hung in a cloudless sky over -the valley of the Charentonne, reflected from every patch and -pool of water. The poplars, like frosted silver, cast black -shadows over the white ground. The frogs were clamorous, -for their domain had been unexpectedly extended.</p> - -<p>Thomas Lindet, in his attic, was putting together a few -clothes into a bundle, to take with him to Évreux, as he was -about to start next morning, after the first mass at six. He -occupied two rooms in a small cottage opposite the church. -It was an old house, in plaster and timber, with a thatched -roof, and consisted of a ground-floor and an upper storey. -The ground-floor was occupied by an old woman, and the -priest tenanted the rooms above. His sitting-room, in which -he was making up his bundle, was clean; the walls were laden -with whitewash, as was also the sloping ceiling. The window -was covered with a blue-and-white striped curtain of bedticking; -the chairs were of wood, unpolished, with wooden -seats. Over the chimney-piece were a crucifix and two little -prints, one of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the other of S. Jerome.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -His small library occupied a few deal shelves on one side of the -fireplace. Besides his breviary, there were few books in binding, -except an old copy of Atto of Vercellæ on the ‘Sufferings -and Persecutions of the Church,’ and a Geoffrey of Vendôme -on ‘Investitures.’ But there were many pamphlets and polemical -tracts, such as were circulated at that time in France, -and in paper covers, torn and dirty, were Montesquieu’s -‘Esprit des Lois,’ and Rousseau’s ‘Emile.’</p> - -<p>Having completed his preparations, the priest blew out his -candle, drew the curtain, and looked out of his window, pierced -through the thatch. The church of S. Cross was exactly opposite, -on the other side of the small square, and the moon -brought its sculpture into relief. The gothic tower, surmounted -by an ugly bulbous cap, cut the clear grey sky; the -delicate tracery of the windows stood out like white lace -against the gloom of the bell-chamber.</p> - -<p>The west front had been remodelled in 1724, and, though -Lindet, with the taste of the period, admired it, no one at the -present day would approve of the stiff Italian pedimented -doorway, with its four pillars incrusted in the wall, or of the -niche in the same style, containing the effigy of the Empress -Helena bearing the cross, which intrudes upon the elegant -gothic west window.</p> - -<p>After the excitement of the day, a reaction had set in, and -Lindet felt dispirited, and disposed to question the judiciousness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -of his purpose. He leaned on the window-sill listening -to the trill of the frogs, sweetened by distance, and to the -throbbing of the clock in the tower. From where he stood, -he could see the rosy glimmer of the sanctuary lamp, through -the west window of the church. At this window, looking -towards the light which burned before the Host, he was wont -every evening to say his prayers, before retiring to rest.</p> - -<p>He put his delicate hands together. The mechanism of -the clock whirred, and then midnight struck. The notes -boomed over the sleeping town, and lost themselves among -the wooded hills. All at once Lindet’s mind turned to the -poor child for whose preservation he had laboured ineffectually -that day. Then, fervently, he prayed for her.</p> - -<p>She was seated at the window in Madame Plomb’s antechamber, -fast asleep, with her head on her hands. The -window was wide open, and the shutters were back, so that -the moon and air entered, and made the chamber light and -balmy.</p> - -<p>About nine o’clock, the cook had been to madame’s room -to tell Gabrielle that she was to sleep with her at the other end -of the house; but Madame Berthier, full of violence, had struck -and driven the woman out of the room, and she had retired, -very angry, and threatening to tell ‘Monsieur.’ The woman -had been as good as her word; but Berthier and Foulon being -together in the billiard-room playing, she had not ventured<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -to interrupt them till they left, which was at midnight. The -cook was very angry, and, like an insulted servant, threatened -to leave the house.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! so so!’ exclaimed Berthier. ‘We shall see. You -were right to obey my orders. Gustave! come here; follow -me, Antoinette; the girl shall be removed immediately, awake -or asleep, by gentleness or by force.’</p> - -<p>The silver light struck across the face of the sleeping girl, -still wet with tears, and streaked the floor. An acacia intercepted -some of the light, and as a light wind stirred, it produced -an uneasy shiver over the floor. A leaf, caught in a -cobweb, pattered timidly against one of the window-panes. -A ghost-moth fluttered about the room, its white wings gleaming -in the moonlight, as it swerved and wheeled, while its -shadow swerved and wheeled in rhythm, on the sheet of -Gabrielle’s couch, as though there were two moths, one white, -the other black, dancing up and down before one another. -The shadows of the acacia foliage made faces on the floor. -Dark profiles, hatchet-shaped, with glistening eyes and mouths -that opened and shut, faces of old women munching silently, -silhouettes of demons butting with their horns, or nodding, as -though they would say,—Wait, wait, wait! We shall see!</p> - -<p>The white veil of the sleeping girl lay on the floor, in a line. -The flickering lights crossed it, and the shadows of the leaves -resembled black flat insects, and long slugs, scrambling over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -it, in a mad race. The foliage of the acacia whispered, and -the pines of the forest close by hummed as the wind stirred -their myriad vibrating spines. The air laden with the fragrance -of the resin, was not balmy only, but warm as well. An owl -in the woods called at intervals to-whoo! and waited, expecting -an answer, then called again. Then the night-hawk screeched, -and fluttered among the trees. In the garden-plots whole -colonies of crickets chirped a long quivering song in a thousand -parts, perfectly harmonized, all night long, with a rapidity -of execution perfectly amazing.</p> - -<p>From Bernay sounded distant, yet distinct, the chime of -midnight. At the same moment the hounds in the yard became -restless, and gave tongue spasmodically. The girl sighed -in sleep, and turned her head from the light; then she woke, -started up, and uttered a scream. The door of the room was -open, and Berthier stood in it, looking at her, with the cook -and Gustave in the background. At the same moment, -a black figure glided from behind the window-curtains, and -stood between him and her.</p> - -<p>‘Sacré! Madame Plomb, you are up late,’ observed the -Intendant, advancing into the chamber, and shutting the door -behind him upon the two servants. ‘May I trouble you, -Madame Plomb, to retire to your couch?’ He stepped -towards her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span></p> - -<p>The woman drew herself up, raised her arm, and the -moon flashed along a slender steel blade she brandished.</p> - -<p>‘Nonsense, my charmer!’ said Berthier; ‘no acting with -me. Put down that little toy and begone.’</p> - -<p>‘Stop!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you see that veil there; there, -beast, there on the floor?’</p> - -<p>‘Perfectly well, my angel.’</p> - -<p>‘Pass over it, if you dare.’</p> - -<p>‘I dare!’ he said scornfully, but without advancing.</p> - -<p>‘If your foot transgresses that limit, I swear, beast! it will -be your death.’</p> - -<p>He looked at her; the moon was on her blue-grey face, -and she looked at him. Her countenance was terrible: in -that light, it was like the face of a fiend.</p> - -<p>‘You are a devil,’ he said.</p> - -<p>‘You have made me one,’ she answered.</p> - -<p>Deadly hatred glared out of her wild black eyes; there was -resolution in the set lips and hard brow, and Berthier felt that -what his wife threatened, that she would execute. He could -not endure the flash and glitter of her eye-balls, and he -lowered his.</p> - -<p>‘I hate you,’ she muttered; ‘I hate you, beast! Do you -think I should shrink from <em>your</em> blood? Is your blood so dear -to me? Should I shrink from your corpse—from your dead -face? I have only seen the living one, and that is to me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> -so odious, that I long to see the dead one; it is sure to be -more pleasant. Those red inflamed eyes of yours, are they -so bewitching that I should not wish to close them for ever? -Those lips, which I have never kissed, beast! I promise to -kiss them one day. I promise it, remember. They shall be -stiff and cold then. That shall be my one and only kiss.’</p> - -<p>The hounds barked furiously without, so furiously that they -disturbed the house. Adolphe opened his window and -called: ‘Be quiet, my children; be good boys, there! Pigeon -and Poulet!’</p> - -<p>Gustave roared from the window of the corridor: ‘A thousand -devils! shall I not murder you to-morrow, if you are -not quiet this instant?’</p> - -<p>The acacia creaked and crackled.</p> - -<p>Berthier moved towards the window, he was determined to -disarm his wife, if possible.</p> - -<p>‘Where are you going?’ she asked, sharply.</p> - -<p>‘I am going to look out, and see why the dogs are so -furious.’</p> - -<p>‘You cannot see into the yard from this window.’</p> - -<p>‘No, but I can see if anyone is without.’ Next moment—‘Imogène! -I believe that there must be some one.’</p> - -<p>She lowered her knife, with the fickleness of her disorder; -the idea distracted her attention.</p> - -<p>‘Where?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span></p> - -<p>‘Come and look.’</p> - -<p>She stepped towards the window. Instantly, quick as -thought, he struck her wrist, and sent the knife flying from -her grasp, across the room.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle in an agony of terror cried, ‘My father! Oh, my -father!’</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier uttered a moan of pain and rage. Her husband -would have grappled with her at once, but that something -whizzed in at the open window, and struck him in the eye -with such force that he staggered backward, and the blood -burst from the lid and streamed over his cheek.</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier recovered her knife, and threatening him -with it, drove him, blinded with pain and blood, out of -the room.</p> - -<p>Who can describe the horror of conscience to which -Matthias André was a prey that night? He remained after -the departure of Berthier, for some hours half stupefied, -looking at the money which he held in his hand; then -he tied it up in a piece of rag, and placed it in his bosom; -but it was too heavy there, it seemed to weigh him down, -so he fastened it to the belt of his blouse, which he now -put on. To distract his mind, he began to replace in the -boxes the clothes he had drawn from them, but, as he huddled -them in, unfolded, they would not all go in. In the dusk, the -garments which were not thus disposed of looked like bodies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> -of human beings waiting to be buried. He threw out all the -clothes from the trunks again, and began to fold them, but -he did this work clumsily, and there remained still one of -Gabrielle’s dresses uncoffered. The sight of this distressed -him, it reminded him of his daughter too painfully, so he -hid it under the table. Then he could not resist the desire -to peer at it where it lay, and the fancy came upon him that -she lay there dead, and that he had killed her; so he fled -up the ladder into his loft, and cast himself upon his bed.</p> - -<p>But there was no rest there. The transactions of that -evening haunted him. He tried to calculate what had best -be done with the money; but no! all he could think of -was that this was the price of his child’s honour and -happiness.</p> - -<p>Remembering that he had not taken any supper, he -descended the ladder and sought in the dark for a potato -pasty; but when he had found it he could not eat it, for he -considered that it had been made by <em>her</em> fingers. He tried -to uncork a bottle of wine, but could not find the screw, so -he broke the neck, and drank from it thus; the broken glass -cut his lips, for his hand shook. Gabrielle’s old gown under -the table he could not see, it was too dark, but he was -constrained by a frenzied curiosity to creep towards it, and -feel if it were there. Yes; he felt it, and he shrank from -the touch.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span></p> - -<p>The moon shone in at his bedroom window. The light -distressed him, when he returned to his couch; so he tried -to block up the window by erecting his coat against it, -supported by a pitchfork and a broom. It remained thus -for just five minutes, and then the structure gave way, and -the moonlight flowed in again.</p> - -<p>André could bear the house no longer. He again descended -the ladder, stole past the table, and opening his door, went -outside. He took the path across the foot-bridge and entered -the forest. He resolved to ascend the hill, and see the -outside of the château in which lay his child. The way was -dark, the shadows of the pines and beech-trees obscured it, -but the wretched man knew it well, and he walked along -it, trembling with fear. He heard voices in the forest, he -saw faces peeping from behind the tree-boles. The rustle -of birds in the pine-tops made him start; but he held on -his way.</p> - -<p>When he reached the castle Malouve, he stood still. His -brow was dripping. The clock of Bernay parish church -struck twelve. At the same time the dogs scented him, and -began to bark.</p> - -<p>The unhappy father prowled round the building, looking up -at every window, his every limb shaking with apprehension.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, from an open casement he heard a cry. He -knew the tone of that voice. The cry pierced his heart.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -He ran to the foot of the building which rose from the sward -at this spot, and looked up at the window. An acacia-tree -stood at a little distance from the wall, and he proceeded to -scramble up it. The trunk was smooth, and presented no -foot-hold. He was a clumsy man, and could not mount well; -the branches were brittle and broke with him. He heard -voices in the chamber whence his daughter’s cry had reached -him, he grappled with the tree and worked himself up a little -way with his knees. The leaves shook above him as though -the acacia responded to every pulsation of his heart.</p> - -<p>‘Father! Oh, my father!’</p> - -<p>That call to him—it seemed denunciatory, reproachful—burst -upon his ear. He tore the money from his belt, and -with all his force, he hurled it through the window; then -he slid down the tree and fled.</p> - -<p>He fled, but the cry pursued him; it echoed from every -wall of the château. He heard it in the bay of the bloodhounds; -it came to him from the dark aisles of the forest, -the wind swept it after him; the owl caught it up and -towhoo’d it, the night-hawk screamed it.</p> - -<p>He put his hands to his ears to shut it out. But the cry -was within him, and it echoed through and through and -through him—</p> - -<p>‘Father! Oh, my father!’</p> - -<p>The cry of a child betrayed by its own parent,—the cry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -of a slave sold by its own father,—the cry of a soul given -up to devils by him who had given it being,—the cry of a -loving heart against him it had loved, against him for whom -the hands had worked gladly, the feet tripped nimbly, the -lips smiled sweetly, and the eyes twinkled blithely—</p> - -<p>‘Father! Oh, my father!’</p> - -<p>As he sprang over the stile, as he raced to the foot-bridge, -as he traversed it, from the white face that glared up at him -from the water, from the rustling reeds, from the soughing -willows, from his own white and black home as he reached it—</p> - -<p>‘Father! Oh, my father!’</p> - -<p>In his horror and despair he threw himself in at the door, -and ran towards the ladder. He scrambled up it; and -drawing it up after him fastened a rope that lay coiled -on his floor to it, and he noosed the other end about his -neck, and he crawled to the hole in the floor through which -he had mounted and drawn the ladder, and the cry came -up to him from below.</p> - -<p>He leaped towards it, and so sought to silence it.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat8"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">All</span> Évreux was out of doors, as Thomas Lindet, travel-soiled -and weary, entered the city. The double avenue of -chestnuts before the church and seminary of S. Taurin was -thronged with people, and a large triumphal arch spanned -the road just beyond the square, the sides adorned with -pilasters of gilt paper and banks of flowers, and the summit -crowned with a banner emblazoned with the lilies of France. -In the tympanum of the arch was a niche lined with crimson -cloth destined to contain a statue of S. Louis, lent for the -occasion by the superior of the seminary. The raising of -the pious king to his destined position was an operation which -engaged all eyes, and provided conversation for all tongues.</p> - -<p>It is wonderful how much noise and commotion attends -the execution of a very simple performance in France. Every -spectator is by the fact of his presence constituted an adviser, -and those engaged on the work which attracts observation -harangue and expostulate and protest at the top of their -voices.</p> - -<p>Those whose task it was to translate S. Louis from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -ground to his elevated pedestal, proceeded with their duty -in a somewhat clumsy and unworkmanlike manner. A pulley -had been erected at the apex of the gable above the arch, -and a cord ran over it into the midst of the crowd which -pulled promiscuously and with varying force at the rope. -The other end of the rope was attached to the neck of the -monarch, and as he was raised he dangled in the centre of -the archway, much more like a felon undergoing the extreme -penalty of the law, than a canonized saint. In the meanwhile, -two vociferous men in blue blouses and trowsers, half -way up two ladders, were supposed to steady the king, but -on account of the jerky manner in which the crowd hauled -at the rope, they were unable to achieve their object, and -they vented their displeasure in oaths. All at once there -was a crash. The head had separated from the body—the -statue was in plaster; and first down fell the trunk and then -the crowned head. The catastrophe caused a sudden silence -to fall on the multitude, but it was soon broken by execrations -and invocations of ‘mille diables.’ Then a general rush was -made to inspect the remains of the decapitated king.</p> - -<p>‘There was absolutely no piece of wood or wire to keep -head and trunk together!’ exclaimed one of the workmen, -elevating the fragment of head. ‘Of course it broke off. -Who ever heard of a plaster cast without a nucleus of solid -wood or iron in the middle!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span></p> - -<p>‘Out of the way! make room,’ shouted a coachman, -cracking his whip; and the crowd started aside to allow a -handsome lumbering coach to roll by, and pass under the -triumphal arch. Two heads were protruded from the windows, -to see what caused the commotion and throng; and Lindet, -happening to look in that direction, saw the faces of Foulon -and Berthier.</p> - -<p>‘Why are all these preparations being made?’ asked -Lindet of a shopman near him.</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ exclaimed the man; ‘don’t you know that Monsieur -the Prince is coming?’</p> - -<p>Lindet pushed up the street, passed the Palais de Justice, -a handsome, massive Italian building, and walked straight to -the bishop’s palace. Having reached Évreux, he would do -his business and leave it.</p> - -<p>The gate to the palace was decorated with evergreens and -banners, the arms above the archway had been re-gilt and -re-coloured; S. Sebastian was very pink, exuded very red -blood from his wounds, and the lion of monseigneur ramped -in a refulgent new coat of gold leaf.</p> - -<p>The wooden doors were wide open, displaying the interior -of the quadrangle; a long strip of crimson carpet conducted -from the gate over the pavement to the principal entrance -to the house; footmen in episcopal purple liveries, their hair -powdered, skipped hither and thither.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span></p> - -<p>Lindet walked straight into the court, and asked to see the -bishop.</p> - -<p>‘You must wait in the office, yonder,’ said the servant he -addressed, with impatience.</p> - -<p>‘Please to tell the bishop that I desire to see him.’</p> - -<p>‘You’re mighty imperious. Perhaps he may not want to -see you.’</p> - -<p>‘Never mind. Tell him that Thomas Lindet, curé of -Bernay, has walked to Évreux on purpose to see him, and -see him he must.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, well, sit down in the office.’</p> - -<p>Lindet entered the little room, and waited. He waited an -hour, and no bishop came; he rang a bell, but it was not -answered; then he stepped out into the court, and catching -a servant by the arm, insisted on his message being conveyed -to monseigneur.</p> - -<p>‘This is a mighty inconvenient time,’ said the man; ‘don’t -you know that the Prince is expected?’</p> - -<p>‘But not here.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, here; he stays at the palace.’</p> - -<p>Lindet stepped back in astonishment.</p> - -<p>‘What does the priest want?’ asked the butler, who was -passing at that moment.</p> - -<p>‘I have come here desiring to speak with monseigneur. I -have come from Bernay on purpose.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span></p> - -<p>‘Get along with you,’ said the butler; ‘what do you mean -by intruding at this time? Don’t you know that his lordship -only sees the parsons on fixed days and hours? Get out of -the court at once, you are in the way here.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall not go,’ said the curé, indignantly; ‘I shall not -move from this spot till my message has been taken to the -bishop. He may be just as indisposed to receive me to-morrow -as to-day.’</p> - -<p>‘Ay! he won’t see any of you fellows till the latter end of -next week. So now be off!’</p> - -<p>‘What is the matter?’ asked a voice from an upper window. -‘Chopin, who is that?’</p> - -<p>The butler and the priest looked up. At an open window -stood Monseigneur de Narbonne-Lara, in a bran-new violet -cassock and tippet, his gold pectoral cross rubbed up, his -stock very stiff, and his dark hair brushed and frizzled. ‘What -is all this disturbance about, Chopin, ay?’</p> - -<p>‘Monseigneur!’ replied the butler, bowing to the apparition, -‘here is a curé from Bernay, who persists that he must see -your lordship.’</p> - -<p>‘Tell him, Chopin, that I am engaged, and that this is not -the proper day.’</p> - -<p>‘Monseigneur,’ began the butler, again bowing; but Lindet -interrupted him with—</p> - -<p>‘I want to speak for one moment to your lordship.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span></p> - -<p>‘Who are you?’</p> - -<p>‘I am Thomas Lindet, curé of S. Cross.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! indeed. Friday week, at 2 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>,’ said the bishop, -shutting the window and turning away.</p> - -<p>Lindet remained looking after him. The bishop stood a -moment near the window, with his back towards the light, -meditating; then he turned again, opened the casement, and -called—</p> - -<p>‘Chopin, you may give him a glass of cider, and then send -him off.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, monseigneur.’</p> - -<p>He slammed the window, and walked away.</p> - -<p>Lindet had much trouble in finding an inn which had a -spare bed to let. The Grand Cerf was full and overflowing; -the Cheval Blanc, nearly opposite, seemed to be bursting -out at the windows, for they were full of heads protruded -to a perilous distance, gazing up the Paris road; the Golden -Ball at last offered an attic bed, which Lindet was glad to -secure. This little inn stood in the Belfry Square, a market-place, -named after an elegant tower containing a clock and -curfew bell, in the purest Gothic of the fourteenth century, -surmounted by a spire of delicate lead tracing, in the same -style as that on the central tower of the Cathedral, but smaller -considerably. The square was tolerably free from people, -as monsieur was not expected to pass through it, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -the comparative quiet was acceptable to the weary priest. -After having taken some refreshment, and rested himself for -an hour on his bed, his restless, excited spirit drove him -forth into the street.</p> - -<p>The bells of the Cathedral and S. Taurin were clanging -and jingling, flags fluttered from every tower and spire, musketry -rattled, men shouted, a band played the Descent of -Mars, as Lindet issued from a narrow street upon the square -before the Cathedral and saw that it was crowded, that a -current was flowing in the midst of that concourse, and that -the current bore flags and banners, and followed the music. -The priest, mounting upon a kerbstone, saw that the civic -procession was conducting the Prince to the episcopal palace. -He saw the town gilds pass, then the confraternities or clubs, -in their short loose cassocks, knee-breeches, and caps, with -sashes tied across their breasts, emblazoned with their insignia. -Three principal confraternities appeared—that of Évreux, preceded -by a banner figured with S. Sebastian, that of S. Michael, -and that of S. Louis. A band of Swiss soldiers in red uniform -followed, and in the midst of these guards rolled the gaily-painted -carriage of Louis-Stanislas-Xavier, son of France. -Lindet saw a portly young man, of good-humoured but stolid -appearance, bowing acknowledgment of the acclamations which -greeted him. That was the Prince. Lindet saw nothing of -the reception at the gate, presided over by the ramping lion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -and the wounded saint; he could hear a pompous voice reading, -and he knew that monseigneur was delivering an address -from the Clergy to the Royal Duke, but what was said, how -many titles were rehearsed, how much flattery was lavished, -how many expressions of devotion and respect were employed—all -this was lost in the buzz of the crowd.</p> - -<p>What was he to do? He could not wait for more than -a week, as required by the bishop. The journey had cost -him more than he could well afford, and the expense of the -inn at Évreux would far exceed what his purse contained, -if he deducted the twenty-five livres due to the bishop. He -had determined not to give the money to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officiel</i>, but to -the prelate himself, and to explain to him the reason of his -having broken the requirements of the Church.</p> - -<p>Entering the Cathedral, he seated himself in the aisle, where -he could be alone and in quiet, to form a plan for seeing -the bishop and coming to an explanation with him; but he -could not hit upon any to his mind. He walked round -the church, admiring its height, and the splendour of its -glass. In the Lady Chapel he stood, and his lip curled -with a smile as he observed, in one of the north windows, -a bishop vested in cope and mitre, holding the pastoral staff -in one hand, whilst with the other he threw open the cope -to grasp a sword girded at his side, and exposed a suit of -knightly armour, in which he was entirely enveloped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span></p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ said Lindet to himself, ‘when these panes were pictured -it was as now, the shepherd’s garb invested the wolf. -And what marvel! If the Church may not appoint her own -pastors, how can she be properly shepherded? “Qui præfuturus -est omnibus ab omnibus eligatur,” said S. Leo.’</p> - -<p>The priest lingered on till late in the church. He was -weary, and the Cathedral was more attractive than the little -bedroom at the ‘Golden Ball.’ He took a chair in the chapel -of S. Vincent, and was soon asleep.</p> - -<p>It was afternoon when the prince arrived, and the afternoon -rapidly waned into evening dusk, and the dusk changed -to dark.</p> - -<p>At nine, the Cathedral doors were locked, after a sacristan -had made a hasty perambulation of the church to see that -it was empty. Lindet did not hear his call, as he walked -down the aisles crying ‘All out!’ and the verger did not -observe the slumbering priest in the side chapel. Thus it -happened that the curé was locked up in the church.</p> - -<p>It was night when he awoke; slowly his consciousness returned, -and with it the recollection of where he was. He -was much refreshed. The walk of many miles every day in -hot sun had worn him out, and this quiet nap in the cool -minster had revived him.</p> - -<p>The moon glittered through the windows, and carpeted the -aisle floors.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span></p> - -<p>He rose from his chair, and leaving the chapel, bent his -knee for a moment before the High Altar, where the lamp -hung as a crimson star, and tried the north transept door -which opened into the square. It was locked. He then -sought the west doors, but found them also fast. Returning -down the south nave aisle, he saw lights from without reflected -through the windows on the groined roof, and strains -of instrumental music were wafted in.</p> - -<p>Near the south transept he found a small door: it was the -bishop’s private entrance. Lindet pushed it, and the door -yielded. He found himself in a small cloister leading to the -palace. The lights were brighter, and the music louder. They -issued from the palace garden, of which the priest obtained a -full view.</p> - -<p>The garden occupied the whole south side of the Cathedral, -and was well laid out in swath and flowers. A beautiful -avenue of limes extended the whole length of the garden, -above the broad moat which separated the palace precincts -on the south from the city. This moat has been turned into -a kitchen-garden in our own day, but in that of which we are -writing it was full of water. The avenue, therefore, formed -a terrace above a broad belt of water, not stagnant, as in -many moats, but kept fresh by a stream flowing through -it.</p> - -<p>The modern traveller visiting Évreux, should on no account<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -fail to walk on the city side of this old moat, for from it he -will obtain the most striking view of the magnificent Cathedral -and the ancient picturesque palace, rising above the lime-trees. -A couple of lines of young trees have been planted, and the -half-street turned into a boulevard; but in 1788, this side of -the moat was bare of trees, and a row of tall houses faced -the water, with only a paved road between, and a dwarf -wall pierced at intervals with openings to steps that descended -to the moat, where all day long women soaped -and beat dirty clothes, with much diligence, and more -noise.</p> - -<p>Lindet found the garden brilliantly illuminated. Lamps -were affixed to the old walls of the Cathedral, and traced -some of its most prominent features with lines of coloured -fire. The statues which, in imitation of Versailles, the bishop -had set up in his flower-garden, held lanterns. A pond of -gold-fish, in the centre of the sward, surrounded a vase, in -which burned strontian and spirits of wine, casting a red -glare into the water, and producing a wild contrast to the -calm white moonlight that lay in flakes upon the gravelled -walks.</p> - -<p>The avenue was, however, the centre of light. In it tables -were laid, brilliant with candelabra supporting wax candles, -and with coloured lanthorns slung between the trees, and -lamps attached to every trunk. At intervals also were suspended<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -brass rings, sustaining twenty candles. Wreaths of -artificial flowers, banners, mirrors, statues holding lights, -transparencies, occupied every conceivable spot and space, -and transformed the quiet old lime avenue into a fairy-land -palace.</p> - -<p>The tables were laden with exquisite viands in silver, and -glittered with metal and glass.</p> - -<p>The higher end of the tables was towards the west, and -a daïs, crimson carpeted, raised a step above the soil, -supported the board at which sat the prince, the bishop, and -all the most illustrious of the guests.</p> - -<p>On the opposite side of the moat, a crowd of hungry -women and children strained their eyes to see the nobles -and high clergy eat and drink, which was only next best to -themselves eating.</p> - -<p>‘So we are going to have the States-general, after all,’ -said the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, a noble-looking man, -with a frank, open countenance, full of light and dignity.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ answered the prince; ‘His Majesty cannot withdraw -his summons.’</p> - -<p>‘You speak as if he wished to do so,’ said M. de la -Rochefoucauld.</p> - -<p>‘I am not privy to his wishes,’ answered Louis Stanislas -with a smile on his heavy face; ‘let us not talk of politics, -they are dull and dispiriting subjects.’ Then, turning to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -bishop, he said: ‘Monseigneur, I think you could hardly -choose a more delightful retreat than this of yours. To my -taste, it is charming. You are really well off to have such -a capital palace and such delightful gardens. If I were you, -nothing would induce me to change them. Why, look at -the Archbishop of Rouen—— By the way, how is the archbishop?’ -he turned to the duke, whose kinsman the prelate -was. ‘I heard he had been seriously unwell.’</p> - -<p>The Duke de la Rochefoucauld assured ‘monsieur’ that -the cardinal was much better; in fact, almost well.</p> - -<p>‘That is right,’ said the prince. Then again addressing his -host, he continued: ‘No, I assure you, nothing in the world -would induce me, were I you, my Lord Bishop, to desert -this see for another.’</p> - -<p>‘I am hardly likely to have the chance put in my way,’ -said the bishop.</p> - -<p>‘And then,’ pursued Louis, ‘who, having once built his -nest in charming Normandy, would fly to other climes? -You are a brave Norman by birth, I believe, monseigneur?’ -Louis had an unfortunate nack of getting upon awkward -subjects. This arose from no desire of causing annoyance, -but from sheer obtuseness. He resembled his brother the -King in being utterly dull, with neither wit nor vice to relieve -the monotony of a thoroughly prosaic character.</p> - -<p>‘No, your grace,’ answered the bishop, slightly reddening,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -‘I belong to a Navarre family. The family castle of Lara -is in Spain. The name Lara is territorial, and was adopted -on the family receiving the Spanish estates and Castle——’</p> - -<p>‘Excuse me,’ said the prince, interrupting him; ‘but I -think, my dear Lord, we have a ghost before us.’</p> - -<p>The bishop looked up from his plate, on which his eyes -had rested whilst narrating the family history, and saw immediately -opposite him, standing below the daïs, in ragged -cassock, with the buttons worn through their cloth covers, -with dusty shoes, and with a pale, eager face quivering with -feeling, Thomas Lindet, curé of S. Cross at Bernay.</p> - -<p>The bishop was too much astonished to speak. He stared at -the priest, as though he would stare him down. The guests -looked round almost as much surprised as the prince or the -bishop, so utterly incongruous was the apparition with the -place. The look, full of pain, stern and passionate, contrasted -terribly with the faces of the banqueters, creased with -laughter. The pale complexion, speaking too plainly of want -and hunger—why did that look upon them as they sat at -tables groaning under viands and wines of the most costly -description? The dress, so ragged and dusty, was quite out -of place amongst silks and velvets. The bishop waved his -hand with dignity, and his episcopal ring glittered in the -lights as he did so. But Lindet did not move. Then, -addressing his butler over the back of his chair, the prelate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -said: ‘Chopin, tell the fellow to go quietly. If he is hungry, -take him into the servants’ hall and give him some supper.’</p> - -<p>Lindet put his hand into his bosom, and drew forth a little -moleskin purse,—a little rude purse, made by one of the -acolytes of Bernay out of the skins of the small creatures -he had snared, and given as a mark of affection to his priest. -He emptied the contents of this purse into his shaking palm, -and with agitated fingers, he counted twenty-five livres, put -the rest—it was very little—back into the mole-skin bag; and -then, holding the money, he mounted the daïs.</p> - -<p>‘Go down, sir, go down!’ said the indignant prelate; -and several footmen rushed to the priest to remove him.</p> - -<p>‘Leave me alone,’ said Lindet, thrusting the servants off; -‘I have business to transact with my diocesan.’</p> - -<p>‘What do you want?’ asked the bishop, his red face -turning purple with wrath and insulted pride; ‘get you gone, -and see me at proper times and in proper places!’</p> - -<p>‘Monseigneur,’ answered Lindet in a clear voice, ‘I have -walked through dust and heat from Bernay to speak to you, -and I am told I cannot see you for a whole week.’</p> - -<p>‘Go, go!’ said the bishop; ‘I do not wish to have an -unpleasant scene, and to order you to be dragged from my -table. Go quietly. I will see you to-morrow.’</p> - -<p>‘No,’ Lindet answered; ‘you would not receive me privately -this afternoon, now you shall receive me publicly, whether the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -time suits or not. You have fined me, unheard, for not having -lit my sanctuary-lamp. I had neither oil nor money; therefore -I must pay you a heavy fine. There is the money—’ he -leaned across the table, and placed it in the bishop’s plate. -‘Count it,—twenty-five livres; and next time your lordship -gives a feast, spend what you have wrung from me in buying—’ -he ran his eye along the table, and it lit on a pie,—‘goose-liver -pasties for your distinguished guests.’ It was a -random shot, a bow drawn at a venture, but it went in at -the joints of the mail, and smote to the heart.</p> - -<p>Lindet turned from the table and walked away.</p> - -<p>The guests sprang to their feet with a cry of dismay. -Monseigneur de Narbonne-Lara had fallen out of his chair -in an apoplectic fit.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat9"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</h2> -</div> - - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Come</span> here, children—my angels, Gabriel and Gabrielle!’ -said Madame Plomb, standing in the corridor at an open -window. ‘Come and see what is to be seen.’</p> - -<p>The yellow cat, who had been seated on a little work-table -in the lady’s boudoir, bounded lightly to the floor, and obeyed -its mistress’s call. Reaching her, the cat leaped to her shoulder, -that being the situation in which it would obtain an uninterrupted -view of what it was called to witness. Gabrielle followed, -still in white, for she had no other clothes with her, looking -very pale, with dark rings round her eyes.</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier made no allusion to the occurrences of -the night; they seemed to have faded from her recollection, -and her attention had been concentrated on cat’s cradles, -which she was able to execute with great ease, now that she -had Gabrielle’s fingers on which to elaborate the changes.</p> - -<p>In the courtyard was Berthier’s travelling carriage, with -the horses attached, and the coachman standing beside them. -Foulon and his son-in-law were near the carriage.</p> - -<p>‘Adolphe! my dressing-case,’ said the old man.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span></p> - -<p>‘Monsieur, you will find it in the well under the seat.’</p> - -<p>‘Are the pistols in the sword-case?’ asked Berthier.</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur will find them in the sword-case.’</p> - -<p>‘You have packed up my green velvet coat, and you have -provided silk stockings?’ asked Foulon.</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur will find everything in his trunk.’</p> - -<p>‘But you have forgotten the canister of snuff.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur, I ask pardon, it is under the seat.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ said Foulon, pointing up at the window, and nudging -Berthier; ‘contrasts,—see!’</p> - -<p>The Intendant looked up, and caught sight of the three -faces looking down on the preparations,—the yellow-faced -cat, the blue-faced wife, the pale-faced peasant-girl.</p> - -<p>‘You are surely going to salute the cheeks of your lady, -before you start, my friend,’ said Foulon. Then, in a loud -voice to his daughter,—‘Well now, Imogène, how are you -this morning? eh! In rude health and buoyant spirits. -Capital! And how is my little darling? What! pale as the -moon. The naughty dogs must have disturbed your innocent -slumbers. Oh, Poulet! oh, Pigeon! you rascals,’ he shook -his forefinger at the dogs,—‘how shall I forgive you for -having broken the rest of my little mignonne! for having -robbed her of her roses! for having filled her maiden breast -with fear! Oh, you dogs! oh, oh!’</p> - -<p>‘Is everything ready?’ asked Berthier of Adolphe.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span></p> - -<p>‘Everything—everything,’ replied the footman.</p> - -<p>‘See that the dogs be properly fed, Gustave.’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly, monsieur.’</p> - -<p>‘What is the matter with my boy’s eye?’ asked Foulon. -‘It has been lacerated; it is unusually tender; it is bruised.’ -Then, elevating his voice, and addressing those at the window, -‘Ah! who has been striking and scratching my good Berthier? -I know it was that cat. Oh, puss! you sly puss, how demure -you look! but that is all very well by day. At night, ah! -then you show your claws.’</p> - -<p>The sheriff, finding that everything necessary was in the -carriage, mounted the steps to the house, and making his -way to the corridor presented himself before his wife, Gabrielle, -and the cat. He stood before them with his eyes down, and -with a sullen expression of face. His right eye was discoloured -and cut; it both watered and bled, and he repeatedly -wiped it.</p> - -<p>‘Madame,’ said he, with less of his usual insolence Of -manner, ‘your father and I shall be absent for some days.’</p> - -<p>‘Look me in the face,’ said his wife. He lifted his eyes -for an instant; the wounded organ evidently pained him, for -it was glassy, and the lid closed over it immediately; the -other fell before the glance of the lady.</p> - -<p>‘Madame,’ he continued, ‘we are about to visit Conches -on business, and, after a delay there of a day, we proceed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -Évreux to meet the Count of Provence. He visits the -bishop, and we dine with him at the palace on Thursday -evening.’</p> - -<p>‘What is that to me?’ asked his wife.</p> - -<p>‘I thought you would like to know, madame.’</p> - -<p>‘Why do you not call me Madame Plomb?’</p> - -<p>His eyes fluttered up to hers and fell again.</p> - -<p>‘Because you are a coward,’ said the lady. ‘I know you -for a bully and a coward.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I shall retire,’ he said, scowling. ‘I came here -in courtesy to announce to you our departure, and I meet -with insult.’</p> - -<p>‘What is to become of this child?’ asked the lady, touching -Gabrielle.</p> - -<p>‘She remains here,’ answered Berthier; ‘I have engaged -her to be your servant. I have hired her of her father.’ A -look of triumph shot across his flabby countenance: ‘he has -received six months’ wage in advance.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle uttered a faint cry and covered her face.</p> - -<p>‘I doubt not he has returned the money,’ said Madame -Berthier. ‘See! in this soiled rag is a sum; it was cast in -at the window last night. If I mistake not, this blood which -discolours the linen is yours. It looks like yours, it feels like -yours—ugh! it smells like yours.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I know nothing about that money. I know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -that I have agreed with the girl’s father, that he has received -payment for her services, and that I keep her here.’</p> - -<p>‘Whether she remains here or at home,’ said Madame -Berthier, ‘she is safe from you, as long as I am here to -protect her.’</p> - -<p>‘As long as you are here,’ answered Berthier, as he walked -towards the stairs. Then turning to her, with his foot on -the steps, he said, with a coarse laugh: ‘As long as you are -here to protect her! Quite so, Madame Plomb. But how -long will you be here?’ He disappeared down the stairs, -and entering the carriage with Foulon, drove through the -gay iron gates, and was gone.</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle,’ said Madame Berthier; ‘my dear child, we will -seek your father, and ask him whether this is true. I do -not believe it, do you, Gabriel, my angel!’ she turned her -lips to the cat’s ear. The animal rubbed its chin against -her mouth and purred. ‘I understand, my sweet! you wonder -how the money came in at the window, do you not? Well, -perhaps the good man was deceived by that beast, and, when -he found out what sort of a man the beast was, he brought -the money back; he could not get into the house at night, -so he cast the silver through the window. Was it so, Gabriel? -You are awake at night, you walk about in the moonlight, -you can see in the dark; tell me, my seraph! was it so?’ -Then catching the girl’s arm, she whispered, ‘Wait, I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -not shown you the cat’s castle. You have seen his net and -his coffer, his parlour, his pantry, and now you shall see his -castle, in which we shall shut him up when he is naughty. -That is his Bastille. Have you ever seen the Bastille, -Gabrielle? No, of course you have not. Now come with -me, and I will build you the cat’s Bastille.’</p> - -<p>The unfortunate woman drew the little peasant-girl into her -yellow room, seated herself in her high-backed chair, and in -a moment had her fingers among the strings.</p> - -<p>‘Take it off, Gabrielle,’ she said. ‘Come, Gabriel! sit -quiet, and you shall see the pretty things we shall construct -for you.’</p> - -<p>The cat obediently settled himself into an observant attitude, -with his head resting between his paws; Gabrielle drew -her chair opposite Madame Berthier, and held up her fingers -to receive the threads.</p> - -<p>‘So,’ said the lady; ‘that is the net.’</p> - -<p>She worked nimbly with her fingers.</p> - -<p>‘I have such trouble when I am alone,’ she said; ‘I have -to stretch the threads on this winding machine, or lay them -on the table. Gabriel is so selfish, he will not make an -attempt to assist me. But then all these contrivances are -for him, you know, and he would lose half the pleasure, if -he were made to labour at their construction. See! this, now, -is the cat’s cabinet. I should so much like to do something,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -that is, to dye your white dress saffron. You do not know -how becoming it would be. I love yellow and black. I -wear black, but Gabriel wears yellow. There! we have the -basket. They used to dress the victims of the Inquisition in -yellow and black, and torture and burn them in these colours. -This is the cat’s parlour. And Jews, as an accursed race, -were obliged to wear yellow, so I have heard. Among the -Buddhists, too, the monks wear saffron habits, in token that -they have renounced the world. This, my dear, is the pantry. -And the Chinese wear it as their mourning colour—their very -deepest mourning. But I like it; it suits my complexion, I -think. There! Do you observe this? How your fingers -tremble! This is my own invention. Put up your fingers, -so. Up, up! There, now. You have the cat’s Bastille, a -terrible tower for naughty pusses, when we shut them up. -Ah! what have you done with your shaking, quaking fingers? -You have pulled down, you have utterly dissolved my Bastille, -and all the imprisoned cats will get out!’</p> - -<p>At the same moment, Gabriel bounded from his perch.</p> - -<p>‘Why, how now!’ exclaimed Madame Berthier; ‘you are -crying, my poor girl! Why do you cry? You lack patience. -Ah! that is a great and saintly virtue, very hard to acquire. -Indeed, you can only acquire it by constant prayer and making -cat’s cradles. That is my experience. Yes, it is patience -that you want. We poor women have much to bear in this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -world from the wicked men. If we had not religion and -trifling to occupy our thoughts and time, we should go mad. -I am sure of it. Sometimes I feel a burning in my head, -but first it comes in my chest, a fire there consuming me; -then it flames up from my heart into my brain, and sets that -on fire, and I should go crazy but for this. I say my rosary -and then I make cradles, and then I say my chaplet again, -and then go back to my threads. Why are you crying?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame!’ entreated Gabrielle; ‘may I go to my father?’</p> - -<p>‘But, my dear, I think the beast said your father had engaged -you to him as my servant and companion.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, dear madame! you are so kind, pray let me see him -and speak to him.’</p> - -<p>‘You shall,’ answered the lady; ‘I will accompany you. I -like to walk out, but I go veiled. I frighten children sometimes, -and even horses are afraid of me. Yes; we will go -together, and I shall see your papa! Ah! I long to see your -papa! You are Gabrielle, and my cat is Gabriel. Both were -quite white, till I dyed my angel yellow, and I want to dye -your white clothes, and then you will be both just alike. -Who knows, when I see your papa, perhaps we may be -alike!’</p> - -<p>The strange woman went into her bedroom to dress for -going out; presently she came from it, bearing some black -garments.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span></p> - -<p>‘You should have waited,’ said she to Gabrielle; ‘after the -Bastille comes the grave. I was going to make the grave -for puss, and then you pulled my tower down.’</p> - -<p>When ready for the walk, Madame Berthier parted with -many expressions of tenderness from the yellow cat. It -was some time before she could resolve on going, for she -stood in the door wafting kisses to her ‘angel Gabriel,’ and -apologising to him with profuse expression of regret for -her absence.</p> - -<p>‘But we shall return soon, my Gabriel! do not waste your -precious affections in weeping for my absence. Soon, soon! -And now, adieu! come on, my Gabrielle.’</p> - -<p>The walk was pleasant, and Madame Berthier enjoyed it. -She insisted on picking yellow and blue flowers as they went -along, and showing them to her companion.</p> - -<p>‘See!’ she would say; ‘the colours harmonise.’</p> - -<p>The plantation of pines was soon passed, and then their -road traversed beech copse. The leaves were beginning to -turn, for the drought had affected the trees like an early frost. -Among the beech were hazels, laden with nuts, hardly ripe; -fern and fox-gloves grew rank on the road-side.</p> - -<p>The day was warm, the air languid, being charged with -moisture that rose from the heated and wet earth, so that a -haze veiled the landscape. The flies were troublesome, -following Madame Berthier and Gabrielle in swarms. A<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -squirrel darted across the path and disappeared up one of -the trees.</p> - -<p>‘Oh!’ cried Madame Berthier; ‘if Gabriel had only been -here. How he would have run, how he would have pounced -upon that red creature! Gabriel is so nimble.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, madame!’ exclaimed the girl, as they came within -sight of the valley and the Island of Swallows, ‘my poor -father has lost his corn.’</p> - -<p>‘What is the matter?’</p> - -<p>‘See! the water has been out, and it has flooded our field -in which the wheat was standing uncarried.’</p> - -<p>‘Alas! the pretty yellow corn,’ said Madame Berthier, ‘your -father must buy some more.’</p> - -<p>‘He has no money.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, child, he has; did not the beast give him your wage? -Ah! I forgot, and he returned it.’</p> - -<p>They crossed the little foot-bridge. Gabrielle stood still, -with her hand on her heart, and looked round.</p> - -<p>‘I do not see him,’ she said, anxiously.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, the papa is indoors, doubtless.’</p> - -<p>They reached the front of the cottage.</p> - -<p>‘The garden must have been very gay,’ said Madame -Berthier; ‘what roses! but ah! how the rain has battered -them, and the flood has spoiled the beds. Why do you -grow so many pink and white roses? I like this yellow one.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span></p> - -<p>Gabrielle put her hand on the latch and gently opened the -door. She looked in; it was dark, for the little green blind -was drawn across the window.</p> - -<p>‘Go in, my child,’ said the lady; ‘I will look about me, -and then I shall come to you. I want to see the papa, so -much.’</p> - -<p>The girl stepped into the room, and called her father.</p> - -<p>How silent the house seemed to be! the air within was close -and hot.</p> - -<p>‘Father, where are you?’ she called again.</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier was picking some roses, when she heard -a scream. She ran to the cottage-door, sprang in, and saw -Gabrielle standing against the wall, her eyes distended with -horror, her hands raised, and the palms open before her, as -though to repel some one or something she saw.</p> - -<p>‘What is the matter?’ asked madame. ‘It is so dark in -here.’ She drew back the window-curtain.</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’</p> - -<p>There, in a corner, where the ladder conducting to the -upper rooms had stood, hung Matthias André, with his head -on one side, his eyes open and fixed, the hands clenched and -the feet contracted.</p> - -<p>‘Mon Dieu! is that the papa?’ exclaimed Madame Berthier. -‘Why, really, he is not unlike me. See! our faces are much -alike. I am Madame Plomb, and he is Monsieur Plomb.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span></p> - -<p>The girl was falling. The strange woman carried her out -into the open air.</p> - -<p>‘His complexion is darker than mine,’ she said, musingly; -‘but we are something alike.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat10"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> shock was too much for Gabrielle’s already excited -nerves to bear, and she remained for several days prostrated -with fever. During this time, Madame Berthier attended her -with gentle care and affection. She administered medicines -with her own hand, slept in the room beside her, or kept -watch night and day. The unfortunate woman having at -length found a human being whom she could love, concentrated -upon her the pent-up ardour of her soul. The cat -attracted less attention than heretofore, and for some days -his cradles were neglected.</p> - -<p>If Madame Berthier had been given a companion whom -she could love, in times gone by, and had been less ill-treated -by her husband and neglected by her father, she -would never have become deranged; it is possible that a -course of gentle treatment and forbearance from irritating -conduct on the part of M. Berthier might eventually have -restored her already shaken intellect; but such treatment and -forbearance she was not to receive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span></p> - -<p>Madame Berthier was walking in the courtyard one day, -when Gabrielle was convalescent. Her husband and father -had returned, but she had seen little of them. The former -carefully avoided the wing occupied by the invalid and his -wife, out of apprehension of infection, for he was peculiarly -fearful of sickness; and Foulon did not approach them, not -having occasion.</p> - -<p>As she passed the kennel, she halted to caress the hounds. -Poulet and Pigeon were docile under her hand, and never -attempted to fly at and bite her. She and her father were -the only persons in the château who had the brutes under -perfect control; they feared Foulon, but they loved Madame -Plomb. Animals are said to know instinctively those persons -who like them. The poor woman exhibited a remarkable -sympathy with animals, which they reciprocated. The dogs -would never suffer Berthier to approach them without barking -and showing their fangs, because he amused himself in -teasing and ill-treating them; they slunk into their kennels -before Foulon’s cold grey eye, Madame Berthier they saluted -with gambols. She patted the dogs, and addressed them by -name.</p> - -<p>‘Well, Pigeon! well, Poulet! how are you to-day? Are -you more reconciled to Gabriel? Ah! when will you learn -to love that angel? He fears you; he sets up his back, and -his tail becomes terrible to contemplate; and you—you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -growl at him, and you leap towards him, and I know if you -were loose you would devour him. Alas! be reconciled, and -love as brethren.’ Turning to Adolphe, who approached, she -asked, ‘Have they been good boys lately?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, their conduct has been superb.’</p> - -<p>‘That is nice, my brave dogs; I am pleased to hear a -good account of you.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I must except Poulet for one hour. For one -hour he misconducted himself; but what is an hour of evil -to an age of good? it is a drop in an ocean, madame.’</p> - -<p>‘Did he misconduct himself, Adolphe? How was that?’</p> - -<p>‘Alas! madame, that I should have to blame him; and -yet the blame does hardly attach to him,—it rests rather on -the staple,—the staple of his chain. It gave way that day -that the curé came.’</p> - -<p>‘What curé?’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! madame does not know? Monsieur the Curé of -Bernay arrived at the gate, and the brave dog rushed towards -him, and would have devoured him, doubtless, but for the -rails. The staple, madame, was out; but Gustave and I, -assisted by your honoured father, secured the dog once -more, and no blood was shed.’</p> - -<p>‘What brought the curé here?’</p> - -<p>Adolphe fidgeted his feet, and platted his fingers.</p> - -<p>‘Tell me, Adolphe,’ persisted madame, ‘tell me why<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -M. Lindet came to this house. These gates are not usually -visited by Religion.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame,’ answered the servant in a low voice, and with -hesitation, ‘I think he came here to enquire after the young -girl——’</p> - -<p>‘I understand,’ said the lady. ‘Who spoke to him?’</p> - -<p>‘It was M. Foulon, your honoured father, who dismissed -him.’</p> - -<p>‘Did the priest seem anxious to obtain information?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I believe so; he seemed most anxious.’</p> - -<p>‘Thank you, Adolphe. Open the gate for me; I am going -to Bernay.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame will, I am sure, not mention what I have said,’ -the man began, nervously.</p> - -<p>‘Be satisfied; neither M. Berthier nor M. Foulon shall -know that you have mentioned this to me.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame is so good!’ exclaimed the man, throwing open -the gate.</p> - -<p>The unfortunate lady, having gathered her veil closely over -her face, so as completely to conceal it, took the road to -Bernay, and, entering the town by the Rue des Jardins, -crossed the square in front of the Abbey, and speedily made -her way to the Place S. Croix, where dwelt the priest.</p> - -<p>The day being somewhat chilly, Thomas Lindet was seated -before the fire in the kitchen; his brothers, Robert and Peter,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -were with him. Robert was an attorney in practice at Bernay, -Peter was supposed to help him in the office, but as the practice -was small, and Peter was constitutionally incapable of -attending to business, or of doing anything systematically, his -value was nil. The brothers were remarkable contrasts. Some -years later, when the events of the Revolution had developed -their characters, they were nicknamed Robert le Diable, Thomas -l’Incredule, and Pierre le Fou. It is needless to say that these -names were given them by their enemies. Only in the first -dawn of Christianity do we find a nickname given in a spirit -of charity—Barnabas, the Son of Consolation. These names -were partly just and partly unjust. Robert was never a devil; -Thomas was, perhaps, a doubter; Peter was certainly a fool. -Robert had an intelligent face, much like that of his brother -the curé; his lips were habitually arched with a smile; it was -difficult to decide whether the smile was one of benevolence -or of sarcasm. An ironical twinkle in his eye led most who -had dealings with him to suspect that he was internally jesting -at them, when they received from him some mark of courtesy -or esteem. A thorough professional acquaintance with the -injustice of the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ancien régime</i>, had made him as desirous -of a change as his brother Thomas. He had the same passionate -love of right and liberty, the same vehemence, but his -strong clear judgment completely governed and modulated his -impulses. He was scrupulously honest and truthful. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -Revolution rolled its course around him, and he became one -of its most important functionaries, without compromising his -character, without losing his integrity; under every form of -government he served, being found an invaluable servant -in the interest of his country, true to France and to his -conscience. He had no love for power; he dreaded its -splendour: he loved only to have work and responsibility. -He was less a man of politics than of administration. -His extreme caution was a subject of reproach, but it -saved his neck from the guillotine in the Reign of Terror, -and his probity, which left him unenriched by the public -moneys which had passed through his hands, preserved -him from exile in 1816. Of him the great Napoleon -said: ‘I know no man more able, and no minister more -honest.’ The innumerable difficulties with which he had to -deal in administrative and financial practice during the Revolution, -occupied his close attention, and he shunned public -discussion, in which he knew he should not shine, that he -might be the soul of committees. The Girondins, mistrusting -him, thrust him into the arms of Robespierre, who received -him, saying, ‘We shall found Salente, and you shall be the -Fénélon of the Revolution.’</p> - -<p>Jean Baptiste Robert, to give him his name in full, was -little conscious of the part it was his destiny to play, at the -time our story opens. He and Peter were smoking.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span></p> - -<p>‘Well, Thomas! what have you gained by this move?’ -asked Robert, alluding to his brother’s expedition to -Évreux.</p> - -<p>‘To my mind,’ put in Peter, ‘you have acted very wrongly, -and have not exhibited that respect to constituted authority -which the catechism enjoins.’</p> - -<p>Thomas had his own misgivings, so he did not answer.</p> - -<p>‘You should have waited,’ said Robert.</p> - -<p>‘That is your invariable advice,’ said Thomas, impatiently; -‘always wait, wait, wait—till doomsday, I suppose.’</p> - -<p>‘Till the election of deputies,’ said Robert, between his -whiffs; ‘it is the same.’</p> - -<p>‘You will be inhibited, brother Thomas,’ Peter observed, -as he shook some of the ashes from his pipe on to the floor; -‘as sure as eggs are eggs, Monseigneur the Bishop will withdraw -your licence, and inhibit you from preaching and ministering -the sacraments. And quite right too.’</p> - -<p>‘Why right, Peter?’ asked Thomas.</p> - -<p>‘Because you have gone against constituted authority. I -say, reverence constituted authority; never thwart it. Constituted -authority, in my eyes——’</p> - -<p>‘Is constituted despotism,’ said Thomas.</p> - -<p>‘No; it is right. Obedience is a Christian virtue; obedience -is due to all who are set over us in Church and State. You -have revolted against constituted authority, brother, and constituted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -authority will be down on you. You will be inhibited. -Mark my words, you will.’</p> - -<p>‘No, not yet,’ said Robert. ‘To inhibit you would be to -wing the story, and send it flying through the province. But -be cautious for the future; the least trip will cause your fall.’</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier tapped at the door, and the priest answered -it.</p> - -<p>‘I want to speak with you,’ she said, ‘for one minute.’</p> - -<p>‘Privately?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p>‘Then walk this way.’</p> - -<p>He conducted her to his sitting-room, and requested her to -be seated. She did not remove her veil, but told him her -name.</p> - -<p>‘You came to Château Malouve in search of Gabrielle -André,’ she said. ‘Did they tell you she was there?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I did go in quest of her. Pardon me for speaking -plainly, but I knew she would be in great peril if she were -there.’</p> - -<p>‘You were right, she would have been in great peril; I have -protected her, however.’</p> - -<p>‘She is with you, then, madame?’</p> - -<p>‘She is with me at present: she has been very ill. The -shock of her father’s death has been too great for her. She -is recovering now.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span></p> - -<p>‘Does the poor child remain with you?’ asked the priest.</p> - -<p>‘At present; but I cannot say for how long. M. Berthier -may be removing to Paris shortly, our time for returning to -the capital approaches, and, if we go there—we—that is -Gabriel, Gabrielle and I.’</p> - -<p>‘Who is Gabriel, madame?’</p> - -<p>‘An angel.’</p> - -<p>‘Pardon me, I do not understand.’</p> - -<p>‘He is my solace, my joy.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame!’</p> - -<p>‘He is my cat.’</p> - -<p>‘Proceed, I pray.’</p> - -<p>‘If we, that is, Gabriel, Gabrielle and I go to Paris, I cannot -be sure that I shall be able to protect the girl. Here, in the -country, servants are not what they are in Paris. There they -are creatures of the beast!’</p> - -<p>‘Of whom, madame?’</p> - -<p>‘Of the beast—of my husband. What am I to do then? -They will do what Berthier orders them; they will separate -her from me; they will lock me up. They have done so -before; they will even tear my angel from my shoulder.’</p> - -<p>‘Your angel, madame?’</p> - -<p>‘My Gabriel, my cat. I have great battles to keep him -near me, how can I assure myself of being able to retain -her?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span></p> - -<p>‘What is to be done, then?’</p> - -<p>‘She cannot go home to her blue father; she cannot stay -with yellow Gabriel. I ask you what is to be done.’</p> - -<p>Lindet paused before he replied. The lady puzzled him, -her way of speaking was so strange. He looked intently -at her veil, as though he desired to penetrate it with his eyes. -Madame Berthier saw the direction of his eyes, and drew the -veil closer.</p> - -<p>‘Why do you stare?’ she asked; ‘my face is not beautiful: -it is terrible. The beast calls me Madame Plomb, and I hate -him for it; but,’ she drew close to the priest and whispered -into his ear, ‘I know now how to make him blue, like me,—how -to turn M. Berthier into M. Plomb. We shall see, we -shall see one of these days!’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, what is your meaning?’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, ha! I tell no one that secret, but you shall discover -my meaning some day. Now, go back to what we were -saying about Gabrielle. What is to be done with her?’</p> - -<p>‘When you go to Paris?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I cannot protect her there. I am not safe there -myself. Here I can do what I like, but not there.’</p> - -<p>‘I cannot tell you, madame, but I will make enquiries, and -find out where she may be taken in and screened against -pursuit.’</p> - -<p>‘You promise me that,’ she said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> - -<p>‘Yes, madame, I will do my best. If you will communicate -with me again in a day or two, I shall be more in a position -to satisfy you.’</p> - -<p>‘Then I may trust in you as Gabrielle’s protector when I am -unable myself to execute that office?’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly. I will be her protector.’</p> - -<p>Madame Plomb rose from her seat, and departed.</p> - -<p>As she approached the château, she heard the furious barking -of the two dogs, and on entering the gates she saw the -cause. M. Berthier had wheeled an easy chair into the yard, -and was seated in it at a safe distance from the hounds, armed -with a long-lashed carriage whip, which he whirled above his -head, and brought down now on Poulet and then on Pigeon, -driving the beasts frantic with pain and rage. He had thrown -a large piece of raw meat just within their reach, and he -kept them from it by skilful strokes across the nose and -paws. The dogs were ravenous, and they flew upon the -piece of flesh, only to recoil with howls of pain. Pigeon had -bounded to the top of his kennel, and was dancing with -torture, having received a cutting stroke across his fore -paws; then, seeing Poulet making towards the meat, and -fearful lest he should be robbed of his share, he leaped down -from his perch and flew after his brother, only to be nearly -overthrown by Poulet, as he started back before a sweep of -the lash.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p> - -<p>Madame Berthier looked scornfully towards her husband.</p> - -<p>‘Ah, ha! my leaden lady!’ cried he, as she drew near; -‘you have been taking a walk; there is nothing to be compared -with fresh air and exercise for heightening and refining -the complexion. You are right, madame, to wear a veil; the -sun freckles.’</p> - -<p>He had recovered all that insolence which seemed to have -left him on the day following her repulse of him.</p> - -<p>‘Sacré! you rascal! will you touch the meat? No, not -yet,’ and the whip caught Poulet across the face.</p> - -<p>The blow was answered with a furious howl.</p> - -<p>‘Are you going, Madame Plomb? No, stand here and -watch my sport. I do not like to have my sport interfered -with, mind that. What I like to do, that I will do. Sacré! -who will dare to stand between me and my game?’</p> - -<p>‘I will,’ said his wife, walking towards the dogs.</p> - -<p>‘No, you shall not; you shall leave that meat alone.’</p> - -<p>She stooped, picked up the piece of raw flesh, and threw -it towards the dogs.</p> - -<p>‘You are a bold woman to go so near the infuriated hounds,’ -said Berthier, cracking his whip in the air; ‘I daren’t do it.’</p> - -<p>‘No, you are a bully; and bullies are always cowards.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame! you are uncivil. You bark like Pigeon and -Poulet.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall bite, too.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></p> - -<p>‘Do you know what we do with barking, biting, snarling, -angry, ungovernable beasts, eh? with those who show their -teeth to their masters, who unsheath their claws to their lords? -Do you know what we do with them, eh?’</p> - -<p>He wiped his red eyes with the corner of his handkerchief, -leaned back in his chair, and laughed. ‘Shall I tell -you what we do with dangerous animals, or with those who -stand between us and our object? We chain them up.’ -He laughed again.</p> - -<p>Madame gazed contemptuously at his fat quivering cheeks.</p> - -<p>‘We lock them up, we chain them up,’ continued he; -‘we make them so fast that they may bark as much as they -like, but bite they cannot, for those whom they would bite -keep out of their reach.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat11"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Madame Berthier</span> had left Gabrielle in her yellow room, -with strict directions to attend to the cat, and to take him a -little stroll in the garden. The lady had descended to the -courtyard with full intentions of visiting the church of Nôtre -Dame, but the information given her by Adolphe had altered -her intention. The walk to Bernay and back took longer -than she had intended.</p> - -<p>Shortly after madame had left the house, Gabrielle, carrying -the dyed cat in her arms, descended the stairs and entered -the garden. Her confinement to the house had removed the -dark stain of the sun from her skin, which was now of a -wheaten hue, delicate, and lighting up with every emotion -that sent a flush to her cheek. The anxiety and terror which -had overcome her, had left their traces on her face; the old -child-like simplicity and joyousness were gone, and their place -was occupied by an expression of timidity scarcely less engaging. -She wore one of her own peasant dresses, so becoming -to a peasant girl, and a pure white Normandy cap.</p> - -<p>‘Poor puss!’ she said, caressing the yellow cat as she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> -entered the garden; ‘do you love your mistress? I am sure -you do, for already I love her, though I have not known her -half so long as you have. How can that dreadful man treat -her with so much cruelty? If he only knew how good she -was——’</p> - -<p>‘You surely do not allude to me when you use the expression -“dreadful man.” No, I am convinced you could not -have so named one who lives only to devote himself to you, -and gratify your every whim.’</p> - -<p>Berthier stood before her, having stepped from an arbour -that had concealed him.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle recoiled in speechless terror.</p> - -<p>‘Did I hear you say that you loved Madame Plomb?’ he -asked, advancing towards her. She shrank away.</p> - -<p>‘Did I hear you express affection for that leaden woman, -with her blue complexion, her bird-like profile, her fierce black -eyes, and her mad fancies?’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur,’ answered the girl, trembling violently, ‘I do love -her; she has been kind to me.’</p> - -<p>‘Then,’ said the fat man, throwing up one hand and laying -the other on his breast, ‘I love her too.’</p> - -<p>He looked at her from head to foot, feasting his eyes on her -beauty and innocence. She attempted to look up, but before -that bold glance her eyes fluttered to one side and then the -other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span></p> - -<p>‘Do not run away, I will not touch you,’ he said, as she -made a movement to escape; ‘I want merely to have a word -with you in confidence. If you will not listen to me here, -I will speak to you in the house. Whither can you go to -escape me? The house is mine. No door is locked or -bolted which I cannot open.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur, pray do not speak to me!’ exclaimed Gabrielle, -joining her trembling hands as in prayer.</p> - -<p>‘I must speak to you, little woman,’ said Berthier, ‘for I -have got a charming suggestion, strictly correct, you may be -sure, which I want to make to you.’</p> - -<p>‘Let me go home!’ she cried, covering her face with her -hands.</p> - -<p>‘Home!’ echoed Berthier. ‘Where is your home? Not -the Isle of Swallows. Your father is dead, you know that; -and another farmer has taken the house. How stupid of the -père André to put himself out of the world just when his -daughter wanted a home!’</p> - -<p>This brutal remark caused the girl’s tears to burst forth.</p> - -<p>‘Home!’ continued the Intendant, approaching her; ‘this -is henceforth your home. I offer you my wealth, my mansions, -my servants, myself.’ He put his hand on her shoulder.</p> - -<p>She sprang from the touch, as though it had stung her.</p> - -<p>‘Foolish maiden, not to accept such offers at once. You -are in my power; you have nowhere to flee to; you have no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -relations to take your part against me. If I turn you out of -my doors, do you know whither to go? No; you have no -place to go to.’</p> - -<p>‘I have friends,’ she sobbed.</p> - -<p>‘Name them.’</p> - -<p>‘I am sure Pauline Lebertre would give me shelter.’</p> - -<p>‘Who is Pauline Lebertre, may I ask?’</p> - -<p>‘The curé’s sister.’</p> - -<p>‘At La Couture?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p>M. Berthier clapped his fleshy hands together and laughed.</p> - -<p>‘You are vastly mistaken,’ he said, ‘if you think that -every house is open to you now. I lament to say it, but your -presence in this château is likely somewhat to affect your credit -with some good people. It is with unfeigned regret that I -assure you that this charming mansion of mine is regarded -with suspicion. It is even asserted that you left your father -and home for the purpose of making your fortune here; that -the idea so weighed on the good Matthias, that he committed -suicide, and that therefore you are his murderer.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle leaned against a tree, with her face in her hands; -she could not speak; shame, anguish, and disgust overwhelmed -her.</p> - -<p>‘Do you think that the sister of a curé would invite you to -her house?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span></p> - -<p>‘Monsieur, monsieur!’ she cried; ‘leave me, I pray.’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly, I will leave you to digest what I have told you,’ -he said, with great composure; ‘but not just yet; I must place -certain alternatives before you, and, if you are a discreet girl, -you will make the choice I desire. If you leave my hospitable -roof, you go forth branded as your father’s murderer, with an -ugly name that will ever cling to you. You will go forth to -be pointed at and scorned, and to be shut out of the society -of your friends. On the other hand, if you remain here, you -may remain on honourable terms. There is a place, not the -grave, which swallows up wives; and the husband is left not -only to all intents and purposes a widower, but in the eye of -the law wifeless, so that he may marry again. I am sorry to -say it, but that place is about to swallow up Madame Plomb. -I offer you her place. She will be dead,—dead to all the -world, and dead by law. You may occupy the place of -honour at my table, sit beside me in my carriage, dress as -suits your taste, lavish money as you list. You shall be my -second wife, and the curé’s daughter will come bowing down -to you and asking for subscriptions for the church and the -poor, and you can give more than all the rest of the people -in the village, and you can set up a magnificent tomb to your -father, and have a thousand masses said for his soul.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame!’ cried the girl, ‘oh, dear madame, come to my -rescue!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span></p> - -<p>‘You trust to the leaden wife to protect you, do you?’ asked -Berthier, laughing. ‘The leaden woman shall not be at hand -to stand between us much longer. I have managed that she -shall disappear.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle looked fixedly at him, and her heart stood still.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I promise you that,’ said Berthier; ‘I will have no -more knives drawn upon me, and presented at my throat. -I have taken precautions against a recurrence of such a proceeding. -Let me tell you, dearest, that she shall not be much -longer in this house. In a very few hours I hope to see her -removed to a place of security. Should you like to know -whither?‘—he sidled up to her, put his lips to her ear, and -whispered a name. ‘Now I leave you,’ he said, drawing back; -‘I leave you to make your choice. Think what it would be -to be called Madame Berthier de Sauvigny, and to reign over -the peasants of Malouve!’</p> - -<p>With a snap of his fingers he withdrew. It was some time -before Gabrielle had sufficiently recovered to escape into the -house. She fled to Madame Berthier’s room and threw herself -into a chair; then, fearing lest her pursuer should intrude -himself upon her again, she went to the door to lock or bolt -it, but found that the bolt had been removed, and there was no -key in the lock. Berthier had spoken the truth when he said -that no place in the house was secure from his entrance. She -reseated herself, and awaited Madame Berthier’s return.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span></p> - -<p>That lady arrived in good spirits. She had secured a protector -for Gabrielle, and she had spoiled her husband’s sport -with the dogs.</p> - -<p>‘Well, my precious ones!’ exclaimed she, as she entered. -‘Gabriel! come to my shoulder. Where is my angel? I do -not see him. Gabrielle, tell me where is the cat, or I perish.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame,’ answered the girl, who had started to her feet on -the entrance of the lady, ‘I do not know; I left him in the -garden.’</p> - -<p>‘Have you cherished him, and consoled him for my -absence?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, I have done what I could.’</p> - -<p>‘That is right. Oh! it is delightful, now I can leave the -house without anxiety. Hitherto I have been torn with fears -lest some mischief should befall my angel, whenever I have -been absent from home; but now I leave him to you in all -confidence. But—what is the matter with you? you have been -crying.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame! you have been so good to me, but I cannot -remain in this house. I cannot, indeed.’</p> - -<p>‘My dear child, I know that you cannot, and I have this -afternoon been to find you a protector, and I have secured -you one.’</p> - -<p>‘Who, madame?’</p> - -<p>‘The curé of Bernay.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span></p> - -<p>‘Madame,’ faltered the girl, ‘does he know that I am here?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, child.’</p> - -<p>‘And he will yet receive me?’</p> - -<p>‘I do not know that he will himself receive you, but he has -promised to find you a refuge.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, tell me, does he think evil of me?’</p> - -<p>‘Of you? No; why should he?’</p> - -<p>‘Because, madame, I am in this house.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, to be sure; that is not to the credit of any young -woman; but I have assured him that I stood between you -and harm.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle flung herself before Madame Berthier, to clasp her -feet; the lady caught her and held her to her heart.</p> - -<p>‘You are too good to me,’ the girl sobbed. ‘Oh, madame, -how can I ever repay you?’</p> - -<p>‘You will pray for me.’</p> - -<p>‘Ever, ever!’ fervently ejaculated Gabrielle.</p> - -<p>‘And for Gabriel, my cat.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame,’ said the girl, clinging to the unfortunate lady, -‘madame, how shall I say it?—but you are yourself in danger.’</p> - -<p>‘I am always in danger,’ said the poor woman. ‘Am not -I married to a beast? But tell me, now, what has made you -cry whilst I have been out? The beast has not been near you -to insult you. If he has,’—she gnashed her teeth; all the -softness which had stolen over her strange countenance altering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -suddenly to an expression of hardness,—‘if he has, I shall -draw my knife upon him again. And I should be sorry to do -that, because I do not want to make him bleed; I have other -designs in my head. Ah! they are secrets: we shall see! -perhaps some day we shall be more alike than we are now. -Well—’ she seated herself and removed her bonnet and veil—‘well, -and how came you to part company with the yellow -cat?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame! you are in danger.’</p> - -<p>‘I have told you that I am in danger every day. In danger -of what? Of being grossly insulted; of being called Madame -Plomb; of having my liberty taken from me. I have been -locked up in my chamber before now, and the beast threatened -me with something of the kind just now, as I passed him in -the yard, teasing the dogs. That man is hated by all. The -people of Paris hate him; his servants hate him; his dogs -hate him; you hate him; and so do I,—I hate him. I am all -hate.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, let me tell you what he said to me.’</p> - -<p>‘I do not care to hear,—I can guess; he spoke of me -and called me Madame Plomb,’ she stamped, as she mentioned -the name. ‘He made his jokes about me. He always -makes his jokes about me to the servants, to his guests, to -any one—and, if I am listening and looking on, all the -better.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span></p> - -<p>‘Dear, dear madame, let me speak.’</p> - -<p>‘You do not know, however, how my father treats me. -That is worst of all. But where is Gabriel? Where is the -yellow angel? Come, we will make his cradle.’</p> - -<p>In a moment she had the threads about her fingers.</p> - -<p>The girl saw that her only chance of being attended to was -to wait her opportunity.</p> - -<p>‘This is the cat’s net,’ said Madame Berthier. ‘This is his -basket.’ She pursued the changes with her usual interest, -till it came to that of her own invention. As Gabrielle -put up her fingers for the construction of the castle, she said, -nervously:</p> - -<p>‘Madame, what do you call this tower or prison?’</p> - -<p>‘I call it the cat’s castle.’</p> - -<p>‘But you have another name for it. You told me about -a dreadful prison in Paris——’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! the Bastille.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, madame. Who are shut up in that place?’</p> - -<p>‘Political offenders, and mad people, and, indeed, all sorts -of folk.’</p> - -<p>‘How are they put in there?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, those who have committed political offences——’</p> - -<p>‘No, dearest madame, the others.’</p> - -<p>‘What! the mad people?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span></p> - -<p>‘Their friends get an order from the king, and then they are -incarcerated.’</p> - -<p>‘Are all mad people in Paris put there?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh dear no! they are sent to Bicêtre. But only those -of very great families, or those whom it is not wise or prudent -for their relatives to have sent to the general asylum, are imprisoned -there.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, have you ever feared?’</p> - -<p>‘Feared what, Gabrielle?’</p> - -<p>‘Feared lest——’ the girl hesitated and shook like an aspen.</p> - -<p>‘I have often been much afraid of an accident befalling -my darling Gabriel. Oh! child, the anguish and terror of -one night when the dear cat was absent. He had not been -in all day, and night drew on and no Gabriel came, so I sat -up at the window and watched, and I cried ever and anon, -but he did not answer.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame,’ interrupted the girl, clasping the poor lady’s -hands, and utterly ruining the tower of threads; ‘dear, dear -Madame Berthier, have you never feared the Bastille for -yourself?’</p> - -<p>Those words struck the lady as though with an electric shock. -She started back and gazed with distended horror-lighted -eyes and rigid countenance at Gabrielle; her hands fell -paralysed at her side; her mouth moved as though she -would speak, but not a word escaped her lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span></p> - -<p>At that moment the dogs began to bark furiously in the -yard, and continued for some minutes.</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier slowly recovered such self-possession as -she ever had.</p> - -<p>‘Did he mean that?’ she asked; ‘he said that those who -were dangerous were chained up. Gabrielle, tell me, did he -threaten <em>that</em> to me?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame, he said as much.’</p> - -<p>The unhappy woman was silent again. She seemed cowed -at the very idea, her feet worked nervously on the floor, and -her fingers twitched; every line of her face bore the impress -of abject fear.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Gabrielle! do not desert me!’ she entreated piteously. -‘I have no friends. My husband is against me, my father -is indifferent. I fling myself on you. Do not desert me—Gabrielle, -Gabrielle!’ the cry of pain pierced the girl to the -heart.</p> - -<p>‘My dearest madame,’ said she; ‘I will follow you.’</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle, did you hear aright? Was it not the cat they -were going to take to his castle? Hark!’</p> - -<p>There was a sound, a tramp of feet in the corridor.</p> - -<p>‘Who are these, who are coming?’ shrieked the poor -woman.</p> - -<p>The girl was too frightened to move from her place. She -stood trembling, and the tread drew nearer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span></p> - -<p>‘Fly to the door, shut it, lock it!’ cried Madame Berthier, -throwing herself from her chair on the ground and tearing -her grey hair with her discoloured hands.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle stood irresolute but one moment, then she fell -on her knees beside her mistress, and raised her head and -kissed her, as the tears flowed from her eyes over the frightened -deathly countenance of the unfortunate woman, whose trembling -was so violent and convulsive that the floor vibrated under -her.</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle!’ gasped the poor lady, suddenly becoming -calmer; ‘if I be taken, remember M. Lindet is your protector. -Do not remain here.’ Then her mind rambled off -to the horror which oppressed her.</p> - -<p>The door was thrown open, and Berthier entered with his -eyes twinkling, and his cheeks wagging with laughter. Behind -him were some soldiers.</p> - -<p>‘In the king’s name!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ha! get up!’ He -stood instantly before his wife, rubbing his hands. His eye -lighted on Gabrielle, and he saluted her with a nod and leer. -‘Now, dear! what did I say?’</p> - -<p>Madame Berthier hid her face in the girl’s bosom. All -fierceness, all her courage, every atom of power seemed to -have disappeared before the awful fear.</p> - -<p>‘I will raise her,’ said Berthier.</p> - -<p>‘No,’ exclaimed Gabrielle; ‘she is in my care.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span></p> - -<p>‘In your care!’ laughed Berthier; ‘much good your care -will do her.’</p> - -<p>The girl gently lifted the frightened woman to her feet, -but she could not stand without support.</p> - -<p>‘She is dangerous,’ said Berthier to the officers. ‘Secure -her. She attempted my life with a dagger. Take care, she -may stab one of you.’</p> - -<p>There seemed little danger of this from the quaking -being before them, nevertheless they secured her with -manacles.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle clung to her. The soldiers thrust her aside.</p> - -<p>‘Let me accompany her! Oh, let me go with her!’ she -pleaded; ‘I have no home but with her!’</p> - -<p>‘What!’ exclaimed Berthier, ‘no home! Why, this house -is your home. You have none other.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle was separated from madame.</p> - -<p>‘Where are you going to take me?’ asked the poor woman, -faintly.</p> - -<p>‘To the Bastille,’ answered her husband promptly, stepping -in front of her and staring into her eyes dim with fear, ‘where -you will be secure, and knowing you to be there, I shall be -safe.’</p> - -<p>‘Let her come with me,’ she besought, turning her face -towards Gabrielle.</p> - -<p>‘By no manner of means,’ answered Berthier with a laugh;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> -‘I intend to make her very comfortable here. Whilst you enjoy -your cell, she shall have your room.’</p> - -<p>‘My cat!’ gasped the wretched wife.</p> - -<p>‘Would you have me catch it for you?’ he asked. ‘No. -You must go without. Soldiers! remove her.’</p> - -<p>They obeyed. She offered no resistance. A carriage was -in the yard, ready to receive her. As the men drew her along -the corridor and down the stairs, her limbs refusing to support -her, her eyes turned from side to side in a strained, uneasy -manner, and moans escaped her lips.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle, almost too stunned to think, stood and gazed -after her, but when she saw that the soldiers were about to -thrust her into the carriage, with her grey hair hanging loosely -about her shoulders, and with no cover for her face, she -rallied, and flying back to the room she had left, caught up -the bonnet and veil Madame Berthier had so lately taken -off, and hastened after her to the court. She sprang upon -the step of the carriage, and with her own hands adjusted -the straggling hair, put on the bonnet, and drew the veil -over the face of her mistress.</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle!’ murmured the poor woman, and the girl flung -herself into her arms.</p> - -<p>‘Come!’ said Berthier; ‘enough of this. Coachman, -drive on.’</p> - -<p>Reluctantly the mistress and the maiden parted. Gabrielle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -stood looking after the carriage, as it rolled towards the gates -amidst the furious barking of the hounds.</p> - -<p>Just as it passed through the entrance and turned into the -road, the head and arms of Madame Berthier appeared at the -coach window, the latter extended, and her cry, shrill and full -of agony, was echoed back from the front of the chateau:</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle! save me, save me!’</p> - -<p>‘That,’ said Berthier, rubbing his eyes, ‘that is more than -Gabrielle or any one else can do, excepting myself or the -king.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat12"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Thomas Lindet</span> stood at his window thinking. One by one -the lights died out in the town. A candle had been shining -through the curtain in Madame Leroux’s bedroom for an hour, -and now that was extinguished. The red glow of the forge at -the corner had become fainter. For long it had shot a scarlet -glare over the pavement, and had roared before the bellows. -The clink on the anvil was hushed, the shutters were closed, -and only a feeble glimmer shone through their chinks, and -under the door. The watch had closed the tavern of the -‘Golden Cross.’ None traversed the square. Lindet saw a -light still in Madame Aubin’s windows. She had a child -ill, and was sitting up with it. There was a glimmer also -from the window of M. François Corbelin, and the strains -of a violin issued from his room. There was no moon -now. The stars shone in the black vault above, and the -priest fixed his eyes upon them.</p> - -<p>Save for the violin, all was hushed; the frogs indeed trilled -as usual, but the curé was so accustomed to the sound that -he did not hear them, or rather did not know that his ear<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -received their clamorous notes. Then suddenly he heard the -baying of some hounds, distant, but approaching.</p> - -<p>A moment after, Lindet saw a figure dart across the -market-place, with extended arms, and rush to his door. -Looking fixedly at the form, he distinguished it to be that -of a woman. She struck at his door, and gasped, ‘Let -me in! they are after me.’</p> - -<p>‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ asked the curé from -his window.</p> - -<p>‘Oh! quick, let me in,’ she cried; ‘the dogs! the -dogs!’</p> - -<p>‘Who are you?’</p> - -<p>‘I am Gabrielle——’ she broke off with a scream, for -instantly from the street, out of which she had started, appeared -the bloodhounds, baying and tracking her.</p> - -<p>‘For God’s sake! or they will tear me!’ she cried.</p> - -<p>Lindet flung himself down the stairs, tore the door open, -beat off the dogs with a staff he snatched up, as the girl sprang -in; then slammed and barred the door upon the brutes.</p> - -<p>‘Have they hurt you?’</p> - -<p>She could not answer; her breath was nearly gone.</p> - -<p>‘Stay there,’ he said; ‘I will light a candle.’ He groped -his way to the kitchen, felt for the tinder and steel, and -struck a light. Having kindled from it a little lamp, he returned -to the girl. She had sunk upon the ground beside<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -the door, outside of which the hounds leaped and barked, and -at which they attempted to burrow.</p> - -<p>‘How came you here?’ asked the curé. He set down the -lamp, and raised her from the floor in his arms.</p> - -<p>‘I have escaped,’ she gasped. ‘I ran. They are after me.’</p> - -<p>Voices were now heard without, calling off the dogs.</p> - -<p>‘Bah! she has taken refuge with her dear friend the curé. -I thought as much.’ The voice was that of Foulon.</p> - -<p>‘Sacré!’ exclaimed Berthier; ‘I wish we had discovered her -flight a little earlier. I wish the dogs had brought her down -in the forest. Sacré! I wish——’</p> - -<p>‘My dear good Berthier,’ said Foulon, ‘what is the use of -wishing things to be otherwise than they are? always accept -facts, and make the most of them. Gustave! take the dogs -away. They make a confounded noise.’</p> - -<p>‘Remain here,’ said Lindet, in an agitated voice; ‘I will go -and summon Madame Pin, the old woman whose house this -is. She is as deaf as a post.’</p> - -<p>‘Do not go!’ pleaded Gabrielle, trembling; ‘perhaps they -may get in. Wait, wait, to defend me.’</p> - -<p>Lindet stood and listened to the voices outside. The dogs -were collared and withdrawn. Foulon tapped at the door.</p> - -<p>‘Do not open,’ entreated Gabrielle.</p> - -<p>‘Well! Monsieur le Curé,’ said the old gentleman through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -the door; ‘sly priest! so the little rogue is with you? What -will the bishop say? So late at night!’</p> - -<p>The noise had attracted the musician to his window. The -mother of the sick child had opened her casement, and was -looking out. Madame Leroux started out of the dose into -which she had fallen, and appeared at her garret window.</p> - -<p>‘What is the matter?’ asked the musician.</p> - -<p>‘Ah, M. Corbelin!’ exclaimed Foulon, in a loud voice; -‘what foxes these curés are! We have just seen one admit -a young and pretty girl to his house. Hark! it is striking -midnight. No wonder all the dogs in the town have been -giving them a charivari.’ Then, in a low tone to Berthier, -he said: ‘My good boy! I have served out our curé now, -for having repeated in the pulpit certain observations I made -in private. Those she-dragons yonder’—he pointed up at the -windows—‘will have ruined Thomas Lindet for ever. Come, -let us go home.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat13"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was evident that the States-general must be convoked. -All attempts on the part of the Court at evasion provoked so -loud and so indignant a burst of feeling from every quarter of -France, that Louis XVI finally resolved on conquering his -repugnance and yielding to popular pressure.</p> - -<p>When Brienne resigned the ministry, he engaged Louis to -summon Necker, a banker of Geneva. Necker decided the -king to convoke the States-general, and to determine the -mode of convocation, the notables were summoned. Necker -was now prime minister of France. He was adored by the -people, who believed him to be liberal-minded and honest; -and on his influence the Court relied to keep in check and -subordination the third estate, and use its weight as a counterpoise -to that of the nobility and clergy, who had acted so -decided a part in resisting the crown in the equal distribution of -taxation. As the object desired by the Court was to make the -two privileged classes bear their share in the burden, and as -the States-general consisted of three houses, of which two were -composed of those enjoying immunities, it was evident that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> -they would unite against the wishes of the king and Necker, -and the Tiers État. To avoid this, Necker proposed that the -number of those representing the third estate should equal the -number of the noble and clerical delegates conjointly. The -assembly of notables, perceiving the design of the prime -minister, rejected the double representation demanded in -favour of the communes, and the Parliament of Paris declared -that the States-general must be composed in the same manner -as in 1614, when they last met. An assembly of peers, held -on the 20th November, expressed the same sentiment, and the -notables were dismissed. The courtiers were so accustomed -to consider their will the rule of government, that the opinion -of the notables, the parliament, and the peers would have -prevailed, had not the necessity of filling the deficit in the -finances inclined the ministry towards the Tiers État. Necker -procured a decree of council deciding the double representation, -on the 27th December; as to the question of deliberations -by orders or by the three houses united, that was remitted -to the decision of the States-general, convoked for the end -of April, 1789.</p> - -<p>Although the hopes of the king rested on the third estate, -he feared it. He desired that it should vote taxes; he resolved -that it should do nothing more. Some persons advised him -to assemble the States at Blois, at Orléans, or at Bourges, and -to avoid Paris, which would exert an incalculable influence over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -the third house. Louis XVI, however, decided that the assembly -should take place at Versailles, where the splendour -of the Court was calculated to overawe the representatives of -the people, and render them complaisant tools of the royal -will.</p> - -<p>When, in the autumn of 1788, it became apparent to the -whole of France that a crisis would arrive in the following -spring, and that there would be a struggle between the privileged -and the unprivileged classes, which would end either -in the country asserting its rights and liberties, or in its further -and final subjugation, it became important to those whose -representatives occupied the upper houses, that they should -present a compact front to the common enemy—Justice.</p> - -<p>The nobility were almost unanimous; but it became daily -more apparent that the second privileged class was by no -means so. The Church was divided into two classes, the upper -and the lower clergy, and the scission between them was -almost as sharp as that between the noble and the roturier. -The eyes of the Court were turned on the Church, which held -the scales between the parties, anxious to know whether its -bias would be cast on the side of the third, or of the higher -estate. The bishops and high clergy were stirred into activity, -and became political agents; they exerted their influence on -all the clergy within their sway, to promote the election of -candidates favourable to the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ancien régime</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span></p> - -<p>The opportunity of acting a part as a political agitator -inspired the Bishop of Évreux, when recovered from his attack -of apoplexy, to make the circuit of his diocese, and by flattery -and promises extended to some, by pressure brought to bear -on others, to secure the election of candidates recommended -by himself as partizans of privilege and abuse. Indeed, his -ambition was to be himself elected. His negotiations had not -been as successful as he had anticipated; he discovered that -his clergy were by no means so enthusiastic in their devotion -to the existing state of affairs as were those who largely profited -by them. Some listened to him and respectfully declined -to promise their votes to him or his candidate, others would -consider his lordship’s recommendation, others again would -give no answer one way or another. The bishop was personally -unpopular; he had a domineering manner which -offended his clergy, and a tenacity to his dignity, which rendered -him disliked. If a living in his gift were vacant, he -kept it open for six months, and then appointed to it a priest -of another diocese; if he were written to on business by one -of his clergy, he either gave him no answer, or did not reply -for months. Towards the close of his circuit, he arrived at -Bernay, not in the best humour at his ill success, and accepted -Berthier’s invitation to stay at Château Malouve. Thither -Lindet was summoned.</p> - -<p>Rumours had come to the bishop’s ears that the liberal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -party among his clergy, in casting about for a suitable delegate -at the approaching convocation, had mentioned the name of -the curé of S. Cross. No name could possibly have been -suggested more calculated to irritate monseigneur; and the -bishop had arrived at Bernay with a settled determination to -crush Lindet. The means were simple: he had but to sign -his name and Lindet was cast adrift; but he must have some -excuse for inhibiting him; and to provide him with this, Ponce, -the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officiel</i>, was summoned to Bernay. The excuse was, however, -ready, and awaiting his arrival,—an excuse a great deal -more plausible than he had ventured to expect. The bishop -had not been an hour in the château before Foulon had made -him acquainted with ‘a scandal which had compromised -Religion and the Church in that neighbourhood,’ and had told -him how that Lindet had received a young woman into his -house at midnight, and had not dismissed her till next morning, -when he had sent her to his brother, the lawyer, to be his -servant.</p> - -<p>Now it happened that the incident had caused no scandal -in Bernay, as Foulon had predicted, for the musician had from -his window witnessed what had taken place; Berthier’s character -was well known in Bernay, and the disappearance of -Gabrielle had been widely commented upon. A few malicious -persons, perhaps, alluded to the priest’s part in recovering the -girl, as indicating a very unaccountable interest in her, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -the circumstance had roused a deep indignation against the -Intendant in the breasts of the Bernay people, which was not -allayed when it transpired through Lindet, that Madame Berthier, -the protectress of the girl, had been carried off to Paris -by soldiers, to be incarcerated in the Bastille.</p> - -<p>When Thomas Lindet reached Château Malouve, he was -shown into the yellow room, once occupied by the afflicted -lady, and which Berthier had surrendered to the prelate as his -office during his stay.</p> - -<p>Lindet found the bishop seated near the window, at the head -of a long table, beside which sat M. Ponce, acting as his -secretary. Monseigneur de Narbonne bowed stiffly, without -rising from his chair, or removing his biretta; his red face -flushed purple as the priest entered, but gradually resumed -its usual ruddy hue.</p> - -<p>‘I have received a paper, which M. Ponce will do us the -favour of reading,’ said the bishop in a pompous tone, without -raising his eyes from the table, or for a moment looking the -curé full in the face—‘a paper which contains grave charges -of a moral nature against you, Robert Thomas Lindet—your -name is correctly stated, is it not?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, my Lord.’</p> - -<p>‘But your brother, the lawyer, is also Robert.’</p> - -<p>‘Monseigneur, his name in full is Jean Baptiste Robert.’</p> - -<p>‘Then you are both Robert?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span></p> - -<p>‘Both, my Lord; but I have always been called by my -second name.’</p> - -<p>‘M. Ponce, will you kindly——’ the bishop bent slightly -towards his officer.</p> - -<p>That gentleman rose, and taking up a paper, read in a voice -devoid of expression:—</p> - -<p>‘We, the undersigned, did, on the night of September 3, -1788, see a young girl, Gabrielle André, secretly enter the -parsonage of Robert Thomas Lindet, curé of S. Cross, at -Bernay, between the hours of eleven and twelve at night, -the said Robert Thomas Lindet himself admitting her, and -closing and locking the door after her. And we, the undersigned, -have ascertained that the said girl, Gabrielle André, -did remain in the house of the priest that night till the hour -of seven in the morning.’</p> - -<p>This document was signed by Foulon, Berthier, Gustave, -and Adolphe.</p> - -<p>The bishop closed his fingers over his breast, leaned back -in his chair, thrust his feet out under the table, settled his -neck comfortably in his cravat, and looked at Lindet.</p> - -<p>The priest grew pale, not with fear, but with indignation.</p> - -<p>‘Have you anything to say upon this?’ asked the prelate, -blandly. Lindet flashed a glance at him, and the bishop’s -eyes fell instantly.</p> - -<p>‘Is this true?’ again asked the bishop, after a pause.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> - -<p>‘Perfectly,’ answered the priest in a hard voice.</p> - -<p>‘I ask you whether, or not, you have thereby brought -scandal on the Church?’</p> - -<p>‘I do not care.’</p> - -<p>‘M. Lindet, please to remember in whose presence you -stand.’</p> - -<p>‘I am not likely to forget, monseigneur.’</p> - -<p>‘Then answer in a becoming way.’</p> - -<p>‘My Lord! I ask to see my accusers.’</p> - -<p>‘This is no public trial.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall not answer till they are brought here face to face -with me.’</p> - -<p>‘I am your bishop. I insist on your answering me what -I ask. You are contumacious, sir. You forget where you are.’</p> - -<p>‘That also,’ said Lindet, ‘I do not forget. I remember -but too distinctly that I am in the house of a man notorious -for his crimes, and whose hospitality you accept. I ask you, -my Lord, whether or not you have thereby brought scandal -on the Church.’</p> - -<p>The bishop half started out of his chair.</p> - -<p>‘This insolence is simply intolerable. To my face——’</p> - -<p>‘Better than behind your back. I tell you—the head of -the Church in this diocese, the guardian of religion and -morality—that you are outraging decency by lodging in this -polluted den.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span></p> - -<p>‘Leave my presence this instant,’ said the bishop. ‘Ponce! -turn him out.’</p> - -<p>‘No,’ said Lindet, taking a chair, and leaning his hands on -the back to steady himself, for his limbs trembled with excitement; -‘no, monseigneur; a charge has been brought against -me, a slur has been cast on my character, and I ask to meet -my accusers face to face.’</p> - -<p>‘Pardon me!’ The door opened, and Foulon stepped in, -bearing some peaches on a leaf. ‘My dear Lord, I must -positively offer you this fruit, the very last on the tree. I -thought all were gone, but these are so luscious. Pray accept -them.’</p> - -<p>Lindet faced him instantly, with abruptness.</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur Foulon, I am glad you are here.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, ha! my dear curé. Sly fellow! Do you remember the -pretty little peasantess? Well, I allow she was pretty, bewitching -enough to have captivated a saint, therefore quite excusable -in a curé to have been ensnared.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur Foulon!’ said the prelate with dignity, ruffling -up, and throwing a tone of reprimand into his voice.</p> - -<p>‘I beg your lordship’s pardon a thousand times, but he is -too sly. He amuses me infinitely.’</p> - -<p>Thomas Lindet had much difficulty in controlling his naturally -quick temper. He gripped the back of the chair with nervous -force, and his lips whitened and trembled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span></p> - -<p>‘I know you will allow me,’ said Foulon, withdrawing the -chair; and bringing it to the table, he seated himself -upon it.</p> - -<p>Lindet, standing without support, shook like a leaf in the -wind. He folded his arms on his breast, and pressed them -tightly against it, to keep down the bounding heart.</p> - -<p>‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘this person has charged me with -having received a poor girl into my house.’</p> - -<p>‘I saw her slip in, and I heard you bolt the door after her,’ -said Foulon; ‘you did not suppose that anyone would be about -at midnight, eh?’</p> - -<p>‘Was she a relation?’ asked the bishop.</p> - -<p>‘She was not, my Lord,’ answered the curé.</p> - -<p>‘A relative of your housekeeper?’</p> - -<p>‘No.’</p> - -<p>‘Who was she?’</p> - -<p>‘She was a poor orphan girl, whom Madame Berthier, that -person’s daughter, had entrusted to my charge, to protect her -from M. Berthier. The child was in danger here——’</p> - -<p>‘Excuse me,’ said Foulon in a grave tone, addressing himself -to the bishop, ‘is this curé to bring charges of such a nature -as this against my son-in-law, in his own house?’</p> - -<p>‘You are right,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne; ‘I -insist on you, M. Lindet, exculpating yourself without slandering -others.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span></p> - -<p>‘M. Foulon,’ said the priest, turning upon the old gentleman, -then engrossed in snuffing; ‘you know that what I say is true. -You know that the child was decoyed into this house by your -son-in-law; you know that your own daughter stood between -her and her would-be destroyer.’</p> - -<p>‘He is mad,’ said Foulon, calmly. ‘Dear, dear me!’</p> - -<p>Lindet could endure no more; his blood boiled up, and -the suppressed passion blazed into action. He sprang upon -the imperturbable old man, and caught him by the shoulders, -and forced him round in his chair to face him.</p> - -<p>‘Take some snuff,’ said Foulon, extending his box.</p> - -<p>‘Deny what I have said, if you dare!’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly not; I will deny nothing. Of course the girl was -brought here; of course my Imogène stood between her and -ruin; of course she besought you to stand protector to the -child;—there, does that satisfy you? I grant all, you see, -now be calm. Always say “yes, yes” to a maniac; it is -safest,’ he added, aside to the bishop.</p> - -<p>‘I think,’ said Monseigneur de Narbonne, ‘that I have heard -quite enough of this,—enough to satisfy me that M. Lindet -is not a fit person to minister in my diocese. I will trouble -you,’ he added, turning to M. Ponce, ‘to give me that paper -you have been so diligently and kindly drawing up for me. -I must inform you,’ he said, turning his face towards Lindet, -‘that I withdraw your licence, and inhibit you from performing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -any ecclesiastical function within my jurisdiction till further -notice.’</p> - -<p>He took the paper from his secretary, and in a bold hand -signed it—‘<span class="smcap">F. Ebro</span>.’</p> - -<p>‘You condemn and punish me, you destroy my character, -and ruin me, without investigating the charge laid against -me,’ said the priest.</p> - -<p>‘You have acknowledged that the charge is substantially -correct.’</p> - -<p>‘I have not acknowledged it, nor can you prove that my -moral character is thereby affected.’</p> - -<p>‘I am quite satisfied that you are greatly to blame,’ said -the bishop. ‘I will not hold a public investigation, because -it would only increase the scandal, and I desire to spare you -and the Church that shame. I am satisfied that you are to -blame; that is enough.’</p> - -<p>‘I demand a thorough investigation,’ said the curé, with -great firmness.</p> - -<p>‘You may demand one,’ answered the bishop, ‘but you shall -not get one.’</p> - -<p>‘What!’ exclaimed Lindet; ‘I am to be ruined, and to be -deprived of the means of clearing myself!’</p> - -<p>‘<em>I</em> am satisfied,’ said the bishop, drawing himself up.</p> - -<p>‘But I am not,’ retorted the priest.</p> - -<p>The bishop bowed stiffly, and then turning to M. Ponce,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> -said: ‘I think we will proceed with other business. Good -morning, M. Lindet. Here is your inhibition.’</p> - -<p>The curé stood silent for a moment, looking first at the -secretary, then at Foulon, who was engaged in pouring snuff -into his palm; then at the bishop, who had taken up one -of the peaches, and with a silver pocket-knife was pealing it.</p> - -<p>‘My lord bishop!’ said Lindet, ‘hear what I say. We, the -priests of the Church of France, have groaned under an -intolerable oppression: we have been subject, without redress, -to the whims and caprices of the bishop; neither justice nor -liberty has been accorded us. I shall resist this treatment. -I shall not submit to be crushed without a struggle. I appeal -to the law.’</p> - -<p>‘You have no appeal,’ said the prelate, coldly; ‘you are -a mere curate,—a stipendiary curate, and not an incumbent; -the incumbent is under the protection of the law, the curate -is removable at the will of the bishop.’</p> - -<p>Lindet paused again.</p> - -<p>‘These peaches are delicious,’ said the bishop to Foulon.</p> - -<p>‘Then,’ said the curé, ‘I appeal to the country against ecclesiastical -tyranny. You spiritual lords, with your cringing subserviency -to the crown, with your utter worldliness, with your -obstructiveness to all religious movement in your dioceses, with -your tenacious adherence to abuses, and with your arbitrary -despotic treatment of your clergy, have taught us to hate the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -name of Establishment; to cry to God and the people to -destroy a monstrous, odious sham, and restore to the Church -its primitive independence. I wait the assembly of the States-general, -at which the clergy shall have a voice; and then, -my Lord, then I shall speak, and you <em>shall</em> hear me.’</p> - -<p>He turned abruptly on his heel, and left the room.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat14"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">By</span> an order dated January 24th, 1789, the king required -that the desires and reclamations of all his subjects should be -transmitted to him. Every parish was to draw up a statement -of its grievances and its wishes, which was to be handed into -the assembly of the secondary bailiwick, by it to be fused into -one which was forwarded to the grand bailiwick. The -secondary bailiwicks of Beaumont-le-Royer, Breteuil, Conches, -Ezy-Nonancourt, Orbec, and Bernay, belonged to the grand -bailiwick of Évreux. The nobility and the clergy drew up -their papers separately.</p> - -<p>Another operation, not less important than the composition -of these <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cahiers</i>, was to be simultaneously accomplished. This -was the election of delegates.</p> - -<p>According to the edict of the 24th January, the ancient distinction -of electors and deputies into three orders, the clergy, -the nobility, and the third estate, was maintained. These -orders had a common electoral circumscription, the grand -bailiwick. The mode of election in the two first orders was -made the same, but it was different in the third.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span></p> - -<p>The nomination of deputies for the clergy was to be made -directly by the bishops, abbés, canons, and other beneficed -clergy in the grand bailiwick. The curés, who subsisted on -the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portion congrue</i>, in another word, nearly all the clergy in -country parishes, could only vote in person if their parish were -within two leagues of the town in which was held the assembly, -unless they had a curate to take their place during their -absence, and provide for the religious requirements of the -people.</p> - -<p>The election was equally direct for the deputies of the -nobility. The nobles possessing fiefs within the jurisdiction -of the grand bailiff, might appear by representatives, but all -others were required to appear in person.</p> - -<p>The third estate, on the contrary, in naming its representatives, -had to traverse three stages. Eight days at latest after -having received the notification, the inhabitants composing the -tiers état in the towns and country parishes, above the age of -twenty-five, were invited to unite in their usual place of assembly, -before the justice, or, in his default, before their syndic, -for the purpose of naming a number of delegates, the number -being proportioned to the population—two for two hundred -fires and under, three for more than two hundred, four for -three hundred and over, and so on, in progression. These -delegates were required to betake themselves to the seat of the -secondary bailiwick of their arrondissement, and there elect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -one quarter of their number. Those who had passed this -ordeal were next bound to transport themselves to the principal -bailiwick, and there, united with the deputies of that particular -arrondissement of the bailiwick, and with the delegates of the -town corporations, to form, under the presidence of the lieutenant-general, -a college to which was remitted the final -election of deputies.</p> - -<p>Such organization had this advantage,—it gave to the -elections, at a period when the relations of men with each -other were much more limited than they are at present, -guarantees of sincerity which they could not have had by direct -universal suffrage. At each stage the electors knew those -who solicited their votes. A communication was established -through an uninterrupted chain of confidential trusts, from the -most humble member of the primary assemblies to the delegates -sent to Versailles from the grand colleges.</p> - -<p>On Monday, the 16th March, 1789, seven hundred and -fifty ecclesiastics, four hundred and thirty nobles, and three -hundred deputies of the third estate, assembled in Évreux -for the final election of delegates.</p> - -<p>At eight o’clock in the morning, the great bell of the -Cathedral boomed over the city to announce the opening of -the first session. From the summit of the central spire floated -a white standard, powdered with golden lilies. Ropes had -been flung across the streets, and from them were slung<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -banners and flags bearing patriotic inscriptions, ‘Vive le Roy!’ -and ‘Vive les États Généraux.’ The lilies of France fluttered -from the windows of the barracks, the hospital, and the Palais -de Justice.</p> - -<p>The weather was cold. The winter had been of unprecedented -severity, and the snow was not gone. On the north -side of the Cathedral it was heaped between the buttresses in -dirty patches. It glittered on the leaden roof of the aisles. -In the streets it was kneaded into black mud; it lurked white -and glaring in corners. Women had been up at daybreak -sweeping the slush from their door-steps, and making the -causeway before their houses look as clean as the season permitted. -The limes in the palace-garden had not disclosed -a leaf; the buds were only beginning to swell.</p> - -<p>It was a bright morning, almost the first really sunny springtide -day that year, and it was accepted by all as a glad omen -of a bright era opening on France with the elections of that -day.</p> - -<p>A stream of people poured into the Cathedral through the -west gate and northern portal. The nave was reserved for -the electors; the people of Évreux filled the transepts and -aisles. In the centre, under Cardinal Balue’s tower, sat the -nobility, many of them dressed with studious splendour; the -clergy occupied the choir, and overflowed into the choir-aisles. -The third estate sat west of the central tower. This body of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -men presented marked contrasts in the appearance of the -members constituting it. Side by side with the lawyer and -surgeon, in good black cloth suits, black satin breeches, and -black silk stockings, sat the peasant delegate in coarse blue -cloth jacket, brown cap,—that cap which has been mounted -on the flag-staff of the Republic as the badge of liberty,—and -shoes of brown leather without heels, laced in front. Next -to him a miller, with a broad-brimmed hat, pinched to make -it triangular, a velvet waistcoat, and a coat set with large -mother-of-pearl buttons, and here and there also a curé in -cassock turned green with age, and black bands, edged with -white; for some of the country villages sent their priests to -bear their complaints before the great assembly.</p> - -<p>Never had that noble church looked more impressive than -on that March morning. It is peculiarly narrow and lofty, and -darkened by the immense amount of painted glass which fills -the windows,—glass of the highest style of art, and great depth -of colour, and thickness of material.</p> - -<p>The bishop occupied his throne, and the Abbé de Cernay, -dean of the chapter, sang the mass of the Holy Ghost, in -crimson vestments.</p> - -<p>Never, probably, has that grand church resounded with -a finer choral burst of song than when, at the conclusion of -the mass, those seven hundred and fifty priests, with the choir, -and a number of the laity, joined with the thunder of the organ,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> -in the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Veni Creator</i>, sung to the melody composed by good -King Robert of France.</p> - -<p>The assembly was then constituted in the nave of the -Cathedral. The candles were extinguished, the fumes of -incense faded away, the clergy who had assisted in robes -retired to lay aside their vestments; seats and a table were -placed in the nave at the intersection of the transepts, and -M. de Courcy de Montmorin, grand bailiff of Évreux, took -his seat as president. Beside him sat M. Girardin, lieutenant-general -of the bailiwick, and on his left M. Gozan, procureur -of the king. Adrian Buzot, chief secretary, sat pen in hand -at the table. On the right, filling the northern transept, sat -the clergy in a dense black body, with the bishops of Évreux -and Lisieux at their head in purple velvet chairs, studded with -gold-headed nails. The bishops wore their violet cassocks, -lace rochets, and capes, over which hung their episcopal -crosses. In the south transept were placed the nobles; and -the third estate filled the first three bays of the nave below -the cross.</p> - -<p>As soon as the assembly was seated, and silence had been -established, the grand bailiff rose. He was a venerable man, -of noble appearance, with a fresh complexion, bright clear -grey eyes, and a flowing beard whiter than the late snow -without. Raising his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chapel</i> from his blanched head as he -began his speech, he replaced it again. His voice, at first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -trembling and scarcely audible in that vast building, gradually -acquired tone, and was, towards the close of the address, heard -by every one in that great concourse.</p> - -<p>‘I give thanks to Heaven,’ said the old man, lifting his cap -and looking upwards, ‘that my life has been prolonged to this -moment, which opens before us, under the auspices of a -beloved monarch, a perspective of happiness, which we should -hardly have ventured to hope for.</p> - -<p>‘What an epoch in our annals, and, indeed, in those of -humanity! A sovereign consults his people on the means -of assuring their felicity, and assembles around him all those -gifted with political knowledge, to strengthen, or rather, to relay -the bases of general prosperity.</p> - -<p>‘Already, from one end of France to the other, those social -ideas which establish the rights of man and citizenship on true -and solid foundations have been disseminated. Government, -far from attempting to hinder the spread of these ideas, has -allowed them a liberty in accordance with its own generous -purposes.</p> - -<p>‘It is for us, gentlemen, to show ourselves worthy of this -noble confidence reposed in us by our sovereign; it is for us -to second the views of a monarch who consecrates for ever -his power, by showing that he desires to endear it to his -subjects.</p> - -<p>‘Experience has taught kings, as it has their subjects, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -this alone is the means of protecting and securing the royal -prerogative from the seductions of their ministers, who too -frequently have stamped the decrees of their selfish passions, -their errors, and their caprice, with the seal of a cherished -and sacred authority.</p> - -<p>‘In order that we may arrive at that patriotic aim, dear to -our hearts, we have to endeavour to maintain concord and -mutual consideration between the three orders. Let us then -from this moment suppress our own petty, selfish interests, and -subordinate them to that dominant interest which should -engross and elevate every soul—the public weal.</p> - -<p>‘The clergy and the nobility will feel that the grandest of -all privileges is that of seeing the person and property of each -under national security, under the protection of public liberty, -the only protective power which is durable and infallible.</p> - -<p>‘The third estate will remember the fraternal joy with which -all orders have hailed the success of the third in obtaining its -demands. Let it not envy its elder brethren those honorific -prerogatives, rendered legitimate by their antiquity, and which, -in every monarchy, accompany those who have rendered service -to their country, and whose families are venerable through -their age.</p> - -<p>‘Generous citizens of all orders, you whom patriotism -animates, you know all the abuses, and you will demand their -reform at the ensuing council of the nation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span></p> - -<p>‘I do not agitate the question of the limit of the powers -given to our deputies. Public opinion has decided that; in -order that they may operate efficaciously, they must be, if not -wholly unlimited, at least very extensive.</p> - -<p>‘Such are the ideas, gentlemen, which I submit to your -consideration.</p> - -<p>‘I assure you solemnly of the sincerity with which I offer -up my prayers for the public welfare. This hope—so sweet, -yet so late in coming to me, now far advanced in years, is -the consolation of my age, rejuvenated by the light of a new -era which promises to dawn, inspiring with hope us who -stand on the brink of eternity, and which will be the glory -of our posterity. We shall lay the foundations, another -generation will rejoice in the superstructure. I thank God -that this feeble hand is called even to the preparatory work, -and, gentlemen, I conclude with the words of the Psalmist: -“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Respice in servos tuos, et in opera tua, et dirige filios -eorum.</i>”’</p> - -<p>The venerable bailiff sat down; a thrill of emotion ran -through the assembly. In perfect silence, the roll-call and -verification of powers was begun.</p> - -<p>Amongst those names first proclaimed, in the order of the -nobility, was that of Louis-Stanislas Xavier, son of France, -Duke of Anjou, Alençon and Vendôme, Count of Perche, -Maine and Senonches, Lord of the bailiwicks of Orbec and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -Bernay. This prince, who was afterwards Louis XVIII, was -represented by the Marquis of Chambray.</p> - -<p>When the names of the clergy were read, Monseigneur de -Narbonne turned his ear towards Adrian Buzot.</p> - -<p>‘Robert Thomas Lindet, curate of S. Cross, at Bernay.’</p> - -<p>‘I object,’ said the bishop, raising his hand.</p> - -<p>The secretary turned to him, and asked his reason.</p> - -<p>‘He is disqualified from appearing. He is under inhibition.’</p> - -<p>Lindet sprang to his feet and worked his way to the front. -‘I maintain,’ said he, ‘that an inhibition does not disqualify -me from appearing.’</p> - -<p>The bishop leaned back in his velvet chair, crossed his -feet, folded his hands, and looked at the president.</p> - -<p>‘I have been inhibited without just cause, without having -been given a hearing, or allowed to clear myself of imputations -maliciously cast upon me.’</p> - -<p>‘M. Lindet,’ said the grand bailiff, ‘we cannot enter upon -the question of the rights of the inhibition; we are solely -concerned with the question, whether that said inhibition incapacitates -you from voting.’</p> - -<p>‘Quite so,’ the prelate interjected; then his cold grey eye -rested upon Lindet, who returned the look with one of -defiance.</p> - -<p>M. de Courcy whispered with the Procureur du Roi.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span></p> - -<p>‘I think,’ said the bishop, in a formal tone, ‘that, whatever -may be the decision on the legality of your appearing, -M. Lindet, there can be but one opinion on its propriety. -If you have not the decency to remain in retirement, when -lying under rebuke for scandalous and immoral conduct, you -will probably not be shamed by anything I may say.’</p> - -<p>‘My Lord,’ began the curé, ‘I protest—’ but he was interrupted -by the president, who, nodding to M. Gozan, the -agent for the king, said:</p> - -<p>‘The objection raised by monseigneur appears to me not -to invalidate the claim of M. Lindet to have a voice in the -redaction of the cahiers and the election of the clerical -delegates. The order of his Majesty makes no provision -for the case of a clerk under censure, and silence on this -point may fairly be construed in his favour. The sentence -upon him was purely spiritual, his status as stipendiary -curate remains unaltered. If he have a grievance, an opportunity -is graciously afforded him by his Majesty of declaring -it. The ends proposed would be frustrated, if all those who -had grievances were precluded by an exercise of authority on -the part of their lords, feudal or spiritual, from expressing -them.’</p> - -<p>The bishop coloured, bowed stiffly, and began to converse -in a low tone with M. de la Ferronays, bishop of Lisieux.</p> - -<p>The preliminary work of calling over the names of electors<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -and delegates occupied the session of that day. At four -o’clock in the afternoon it was dissolved, and the vast concourse -began to flow out at the Cathedral doors.</p> - -<p>But it was observed by the bishops, that the clergy showed -no signs of moving from their places.</p> - -<p>M. de Narbonne rose from his violet velvet chair, and -with a smile at his brother prelate, and then at the dean, -suggested that they should retire through the private entrance -in the south transept to the palace garden.</p> - -<p>He was about to cross before the table at which Adrian -Buzot was still engaged with his papers, when Thomas Lindet, -standing on his chair, addressed him.</p> - -<p>‘My Lord! you have this morning publicly attacked my -character, by asserting that my conduct has been “scandalous -and immoral.” I demand of you, before these my brother -priests, to state the grounds upon which you base that -charge.’</p> - -<p>The bishop, taking the arm of his suffragan, did not even -turn to look at the curé, but began to speak rapidly to his -brother prelate.</p> - -<p>‘My Lord! are you going to answer me, or are you not?’ -again asked Lindet. ‘I appeal to you as a Christian—not -as a bishop. You have damaged my character. State -frankly your reasons for doing so. Give me an opportunity -of clearing myself.’ He had spoken calmly so far, but all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> -at once his natural impetuosity overpowered him, and he -burst forth with the sentence: ‘Stay! you have just genuflected -towards the Host! you have bent the knee in homage -to Him who is Mercy and Justice, whose minister you are. -In His name I demand justice. Mercy I have long ago -ceased to expect.’</p> - -<p>‘I had rather be keeper of a lunatic asylum,’ said the -Bishop of Lisieux, ‘than be custos of a herd of wild curés.’</p> - -<p>The Bishop of Évreux laughed aloud. The laugh echoed -through the aisles, and was heard by the priests, as he laid -his hand on the private door.</p> - -<p>The dense black mass of clerics rose, and the bishop -darted through the door with purple cheek and blazing eye, -as a hiss, long and fierce, broke from that body of priests -he shepherded.</p> - -<p>‘Barbarians! blackguards!’ said the bishop, shaking his -fist at the Cathedral, as he shut the door behind him and -quenched that terrible sound. ‘Wait! I have chastised you -hitherto with whips; when these States-General are over, I -shall thrash you into subserviency with scorpions.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat15"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the following day, March 17, the three orders -betook themselves to their several places of reunion, to draw -up their memorials of grievances. The clergy assembled -in the hall of the Seminary of S. Taurinus under the -presidency of the bishop of the diocese, assisted by the -Bishop of Lisieux, Féron de la Ferronnais. The nobility -met in the Church of S. Nicholas, with the grand bailiff as -their chairman, and the third estate occupied the audience -chamber of the Viscount’s court, and was presided over by -M. Girardin.</p> - -<p>The deliberations of the third estate presented no incident -worthy of note. Unanimity reigned among the members, -and its resolutions were in accordance with, and had -indeed been prepared by, the discussions conducted in the -earlier stages of election. What were the pressing grievances -weighing on the people, have been already shown. The -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cahiers</i> from the villages and towns which were read before -it threw a clear light also on ecclesiastical abuses; the principal -we shall extract from these documents for the edification -of the reader.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span></p> - -<p>Intolerable abuses had invaded the collation to benefices. -The revenues which had been provided by the piety of the -past for the maintenance of public worship, for the subsistence -of the ministers of religion, and for the support of the poor, -had accumulated in the hands of a few abbés about the -Court and high dignitaries of the Church. M. de Marbeuf, -archbishop of Lyons, was Abbot commendatory of Bec, the -nursery of S. Anselm and Lanfranc; the celebrated Abbé -Maury held in commendam the Abbey of Lyons-la-Forêt; -Dom Guillaume-Louis Laforcade, a Benedictine resident at -S. Denis, was Prior of Acquigny; De Raze, minister of the -Prince-bishop of Bâle, was Prior of Saint-Lô, near Bourg-Achard; -Loménie de Brienne, archbishop of Sens, who was -minister of finance in 1788, and of whom M. Thiers well -says, that ‘if he did not make the fortune of France, he -certainly made his own,’ possessed 678,000 livres per annum, -drawn from benefices all over France, and his brother, the -Archbishop of Trajanopolis was non-resident Abbot of the -wealthy Abbey of Jumiéges. This state of things drew from -the redactors of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cahiers</i> of the third estate many bitter -recriminations. ‘It is revolting,’ said Villiers-en-Vexin, ‘that -the goods of the Church should only go to nourish the passions -of titulars.’ ‘According to the canons,’ said the parish of -Thilliers, ‘every beneficed clergyman is bound to give a -quarter of his income to the poor. In our parish, with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -revenue of twelve thousand livres flowing into the Church, -nothing returns to the poor but the scanty alms of the ill-paid -curate.’ ‘Is it not surprising,’ said the people of Plessis-Hébert, -‘to see so many bishops and abbés squander their -revenues in Paris, instead of expending them on religious -works, in those places whence they are derived?’</p> - -<p>Fontenay wrote in stronger terms: ‘The most revolting -abuse is the miserable exspoliation of the commendatory -abbeys. The people are indignant at it. They see the fruit -of their toil pass into the covetous hands of a titular, deaf -to the cries of misery, whose ears are filled with the clatter of -political affairs and the rattle of pleasure. Let the king seize -on the property of the Church and pay with it the debts of -the State—this is what the country desires! The Church has -no need of fiefs to govern souls.’</p> - -<p>Whilst the high dignitaries rolled in riches, a large class of -priests, and that the most deserving, vegetated in a wretched -condition of poverty. These were the curés of parishes, who -were deprived of the tithe which passed into the hands of -some lay or high clerical impropriator, and who received only -a small indemnity, called the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portion congrue</i>, scarcely sufficient -to keep them from perishing with hunger.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cahiers</i> are full of commiseration for these poor disinherited -sons of the Church. Villiers-sur-le-Roule and Tosny -assert ‘that the benefice of their curés, reduced to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> -congrue</i>, is absolutely insufficient for their support, and for -enabling them to render help to the poor. The Abbé of -Conches absorbs half the tithe, and he does not give a sous -to the relief of the parish.’ At Muids, ‘the collegiate church -of Ecouis receives all the tithes. The chapter gives nothing -to the poor, and seeks only to augment the revenue. The -curé is reduced to misery.’ The situation is the same at -Saint-Aubin-sur-Gaillon: ‘The extent of this parish makes -the presence of a curate necessary, and as he receives from -the Abbé de la Croix-Saint Leufroy, who holds the great -tithes, only three hundred and fifty livres, and as the sum is -quite insufficient, he is obliged to go round at harvest-time, -like a begging friar, through the hamlets, asking for corn and -wine and apples. Surely this is lowering the priest, and is -adding an impost to the already taxed parish.’ ‘When the -curés have hardly a bare subsistence,’ says the memorial of -Fontenay; ‘when they are reduced to live on what is strictly -necessary, what can they offer to the poor? They have only -their tears. Let the curés have the tithe of the parishes in -which they minister.’</p> - -<p>Still more hardly treated were the town curés, for the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portion -congrue</i> paid them was smaller in proportion than that given -to the country priests, upon the excuse that the difference -was made up by the increased number of fees. But it was -forgotten that the charges and other expenses of a town,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> -the calls on the priest’s purse, were far greater in a populous -city than in a country village.</p> - -<p>The house of the clergy was the theatre of stormy scenes, -which broke out between the high dignitaries and the curés -living on the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portion congrue</i>. These latter had a numerical -advantage; they formed a majority of thirty to one. On the -evening of the 16th, instead of bearing to the episcopal palace -the expression of their deference, they assembled, to the -number of three hundred, in a chapel. There, disdaining all -moderation of language, a curé of the diocese of Évreux -boldly said that the inferior clergy had groaned too long -under the oppression of the bishops, and that it was time -to shake off a yoke which had become as odious as it was -intolerable. A second orator, a curé of the diocese of Lisieux, -no less energetically expressed the same opinion. A third -priest, having risen to speak, began to defend the episcopate, -whereupon he was silenced by the clamour of the throng of -priests, and his cassock was torn off his back. When, on -the 17th of March, the official deliberation of the clergy was -opened at the Seminary of S. Taurinus, the Bishop of Évreux -proposed to nominate a secretary, and mentioned his choice; -but his nomination was rejected with a firmness which let -him understand that the vast majority of his clergy were -antagonistic to his wishes. Every proposition made by this -prelate and his colleague met with a similar fate, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -memorial addressed to the Crown was drawn up without their -participation, and in a spirit hostile to the high clergy.</p> - -<p>On March 21, the Bishop of Évreux, smarting under the -humiliations to which he was exposed, wrote a letter to -M. Necker, Minister of Finances, filled with complaints. It -contained the following passage:—‘It is impossible for me, -say what I will to them, to keep this assembly of wild, -excited curates in control. I am cast, like a Christian of old, -<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ad leones</i>. These priests, calculating on their numbers, are -inflated with pride, and bear down all remonstrance. And -these are the men we are to send to the States-General, -without a shadow of knowledge of our ecclesiastical affairs; -without a trace of interest in the maintenance of our prerogatives; -without a glimmer of sympathy for our rights, -jurisdictions, fiefs, and our territorial possessions. They are -prepared to overturn everything; they are indifferent to the -spoliation of the Church; they are even prepared to hail its -disestablishment, if one were fool enough to suggest such a -possibility.</p> - -<p>‘The high beneficed clergy are unrepresented; how can -they be otherwise, when the great majority of the deputies -are taken from amongst curés who have, as a general rule, -no interest in defending our properties? You are too just -not to be struck with the inconveniences which this general -summons of our clergy to an assembly must drag down on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> -us, and I venture to hope that in future I shall not be again -subjected to the indignity of presiding over a tumultuous -and disorderly rout, such as that at present assembled. My -zeal for the public welfare, and my devotion to the Crown, -have alone sustained me against the outrages I have endured, -to the like of which I have never previously been subjected -in my diocese.’</p> - -<p>A few days after, the bishop received an answer from -M. Necker, couched in these laconic terms:—</p> - -<p>‘Monseigneur, I grieve to hear of the schism in the assembly -under your presidence. But who is to blame if the children -revolt against their father? I have read somewhere the injunction, -which you, my Lord, may also possibly have seen, -“Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath.”’</p> - -<p>On the 23rd, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cahiers</i>, or memorials of complaints and -recommendations, were completed, and on the 24th the election -of deputies took place. In the hall of the Seminary the -election of clerical delegates was the scene of the final struggle -between the upper and lower clergy, and it was fought with -greatest violence. On the preceding evening the bishops had -concerted with those clergy on whom they thought they could -rely, and had resolved to bring forward M. Parizot de Durand, -incumbent of Breteuil, and M. de la Lande, curé of Illiers-l’Évêque. -The former was a worthy priest, greatly beloved -for his piety, exceedingly obstinate in his adhesion to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> -existing state of affairs, and utterly averse to change in any -form. He had a favourite maxim, ‘quieta non movere,’ which -he produced on every possible occasion, and which was, in -fact, the law of his life. It was in vain for those who saw -the agitation of mind, and the effervescence of popular feeling, -to assure him that nothing was quiet; the stolid old Conservative -was not to be shaken from his position, and maintained -that this excitement was due to the moving of things -hitherto quiet, and that the only cure for it was to reduce -them to their former condition of stagnation.</p> - -<p>M. de la Lande was a man of family. He had been appointed -in 1765 incumbent of the church of Nôtre-Dame in -Illiers-l’Évêque; he was a pluralist, enjoying, in addition, the -incumbency of S. Martin, the second parish in the barony. -The collation to these two rich benefices belonged to the -Bishop of Évreux, who was lord of Illiers, the barony having -been made over to the see by Philip de Cahors in the -thirteenth century. M. de la Lande was a courtier, and was -often at Versailles. In his parish he was liked as an amiable, -easy-going parson, fond of his bottle, and passionately addicted -to the chase.</p> - -<p>It was arranged that the bishops and beneficed clergy should -not appear prominently as supporting these candidates, but -that they should be proposed and seconded by members of -the assembly not suspected of being rigid partizans of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> -<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ancien régime</i>. Monseigneur de Narbonne had given up -the hope of being himself elected, and deemed it prudent -not to allow his name to be proposed.</p> - -<p>At nine o’clock the Bishop of Évreux took his seat in -the hall of the Seminary. The large windows admitted -floods of light, and the casements were opened to allow -the spring air to enter. The snow had wholly disappeared -during the last few days, and a breath of vernal air had -swept over the land, promising a return of warmth and beauty. -The swallows were busy about the tower of S. Taurin; from -the bishop’s seat the belfry was visible, and the scream of -the excited birds that wheeled and darted to and fro was -audible. Now and then a jackdaw dashed through the fluttering -group with a dry stick in its beak, to add to the accumulation -of years which encumbered the turret stairs. The -Cathedral bell summoned the electors, and they came to -their assembly-room in groups of two and three, and took -their seats in silence. The bishop looked sullen and discontented; -he sat rubbing his episcopal ring, breathing on -it, and polishing it on his cuff, and then looking out of the -window at the birds. His large fleshy cheeks hung down, -and their usual beefy redness was changed to an unwholesome -mottle of pink and purple. His barber had not attended -on him that morning, or the prelate had been too -busy to allow himself to be shaved, so that his chin and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -upper lip presented a rough appearance, which helped to -make him look more ill at ease and out of condition than -he had during the earlier part of the session. He took no -notice of the clergy as they entered, and was regardless of -Monsieur de la Ferronnais when he took his place near him. -Every now and then he muttered to himself expressions of -disgust at the situation in which he was placed, and aspirations -for a speedy termination to the session.</p> - -<p>‘Good morning, my dear Lord,’ said the Bishop of Lisieux, -touching his arm. The Bishop of Évreux looked round -sulkily, placed his hands on the arms of his chair, and raised -himself slightly from the seat. Monseigneur de la Ferronnais -was a bright old man, amiable, fond of fun, not particularly -anxious about the turn matters took. He was sure that ‘all -would come right in the end.’</p> - -<p>‘This is your last day in purgatory,’ he said to his -colleague.</p> - -<p>‘I thank Heaven,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne, -without looking at him.</p> - -<p>‘You take these troubles too seriously, you lay them too -much to heart,’ continued the Bishop of Lisieux. ‘Let the -boys wrangle over their precious <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cahiers</i> and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">doléances</i>; we -know very well that they are sops—sops to Cerberus. The -Government will never read them, and it pleases the poor -fellows to be called to scribble their complaints. Possibly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> -the charming queen wants curl-papers for the ladies of the -Court, and has hit on this sweet expedient of obtaining paper -at no personal cost.’</p> - -<p>‘I cannot, and will not, stand this much longer,’ said the -Bishop of Évreux. ‘I am like the martyr who was stabbed -to death with the styles of his scholars. It is the indignity -which I am subjected to that galls me to the quick.’</p> - -<p>‘Put your pride in your pocket,’ laughed M. de la Ferronnais. -‘We have long ago learned to pocket our conscience -at the bidding of the Crown; perhaps our self-respect may -fill the other pocket, and so balance be preserved.’</p> - -<p>The Bishop of Évreux did not answer. The Cathedral bell -had ceased, and, with an expression of impatience and disgust -visible to all in the room, he rang his hand-bell and opened -the sitting.</p> - -<p>‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘we have before us this day an important -duty to fulfil. Let me ask of you to remember that -it is not to be undertaken lightly and in a spirit of private -pique. You have to elect delegates to the national council. -You are hardly aware how great are the issues in the hands -of that assembly. If you send men to utter there the wild -sentiments you have been pleased to express in your paper -to the king, you will revolutionise France and the Church. -That there have been, and still exist, abuses in the political -and ecclesiastical worlds, I am the last to deny. In times of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> -great excitement, extreme partizans of change may precipitate -the constitution into an abyss from which it would take centuries -of reconstruction to recover it. You will be good -enough to remember that the Church in this land is established, -that it enjoys great privileges and possessions; that to wrest -from her those possessions would be to leave her suddenly in -a condition of destitution for which she is wholly unprovided, -and to rob her of her privileges will be to subject her to an -indignity from which it is your place to shield her, as your -spiritual mother and the bride of Christ. Gentlemen, hitherto -you have exhibited yourselves as a compact and resolute body -of malcontents. I do not use the word in an injurious sense. -I say you have exhibited yourselves as malcontents, as dissatisfied -with the existing state of affairs in Church and State. -If you wish to have abuses rectified, it will not be by violent -men who endeavour to tear down every institution which by -its antiquity has become full of rents, but it will be by men of -calm judgment and reconstructive ability, who will carefully -and reverently restore and re-adapt what is decayed and antiquated. -I ask of you, then, in the interest of your order, -to elect persons of matured judgment and practical experience. -It can be no secret to you that the fate of France depends on -the attitude assumed by your delegates. The house of the -nobility is naturally attached to conservative principles, that -of the third estate is liberal and revolutionary. It will be our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> -mission to arbitrate between these contending interests, on the -one side to conciliate the people, and on the other to move -the aristocracy to relinquish their most obnoxious privileges, -and to lend their shoulders to ease the third estate of the yoke -which, it is universally acknowledged, presses upon them -unduly. Above all, let us avoid being divided in our own -house. We touch both of the other estates. On one hand, -we are allied with the noblesse; on the other hand, we are -attached to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tiers état</i>. Through our hierarchy we are in -communication with the noble class, through our curates we -pulsate with the heart of the unprivileged class. Let not that -double union lead to a dissolution of our body, but rather to -a harmonization of the other bodies. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Omne regnum in seipsum -divisum desolabitur, et domus supra domum cadet.</i>’</p> - -<p>This address, so full of good sense, was not without its effect -upon the clergy. Some began to feel that they had been a -little too hard on the privileged party in the assembly, and that -an attempt at conciliation might now well be made.</p> - -<p>Jean Lebertre, curé of La Couture, rose and said:</p> - -<p>‘Monseigneur, and you my fellow-electors,—At the coming -assembly of the estates of this realm, it is well that all interests -should be represented,—that which desires a redistribution of -the funds of the Church, and that which desires that they -should remain in the hands of a few as prizes to those who -are most diligent and most deserving.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span></p> - -<p>A Voice: ‘When are the prizes so given?’</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ continued Lebertre, ‘suppose that they are given to -the clergy who by birth or political influence have some claim -to receive them, what then? Is not the Church brought into -intimate contact with both rich and noble, and poor and commoner? -If her clergy are to exert influence over those in the -highest classes, they must be enabled to move in those classes, -and to leaven them. To do so, they must receive an income -proportionate to the requirements of such a life. God forbid -that the Church should be only the Church of the poor and -ignorant; and that she must become, if you rob her of prizes. -Educated and intellectual men will not enter her orders unless -they are provided with a competency. We country curés do -not want wealth; our lot is cast among the poor, and by being -ourselves poor, we have a fellow-feeling for our flock, and our -flock have an affection for us. The beneficed clergy, pluralists -and commendatory abbots, are wealthy, and are thus enabled -to enter into high society, and to infuse into it religious principles -and a love of morality. Take away their means, and -you withdraw all spiritual influence from the most powerful, -because the highest, stratum of society. I propose as one candidate -for the clergy of this assembly, M. Parizot de Durand, -curé of Breteuil, a priest of unblemished character, and a man -of solid common sense.’</p> - -<p>M. de Durand was seconded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span></p> - -<p>But immediately after, the Abbé Lecerf started up and -proposed Thomas Lindet, curé of Bernay.</p> - -<p>Instantly an expression of anger,—a sudden dark cloud, -obscured the countenance of the president.</p> - -<p>‘I take it as a deliberate insult to myself, that a man should -be proposed to represent the clergy of the diocese who is -under inhibition from me,’ he said, in a passionate loud tone.</p> - -<p>Monseigneur de la Ferronnais shrugged his shoulders, and -tapping the Bishop of Évreux on the back of his hand with his -middle finger, said: ‘You have made as great a mistake now -as you made a great hit by your first speech.’</p> - -<p>That the Bishop of Lisieux was right became at once -apparent. Lindet sprang up, on fire, in a blaze.</p> - -<p>‘There, there!’ he said, stretching out his hands, that -quivered with excitement and the vehemence of his utterance; -‘see what he wants you to commit yourselves to—to support -the absolute and irresponsible exercise of discipline. Why am -I under inhibition? I will tell you all. A friend of the -bishop’s, then, is a man notorious for his immoralities, a man -very great at Court, or be sure he would not be monseigneur’s -friend. Well, this man attempted to seduce a poor girl, a -peasant’s daughter. She fled from her seducer, and I protected -her, and saved her, at the earnest entreaty of the man’s -own wife. He thereupon charges me with what he himself had -failed to do, and the bishop, who is his guest, complaisantly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> -at his host’s request, inhibits me without allowing me a fair -hearing, and an open trial.’</p> - -<p>‘Are we going to be pestered with this nonsense here?’ -asked the bishop, angrily. ‘I pronounce this not to be the -place for such questions to be ventilated.’</p> - -<p>‘What place is?’ suddenly asked Lindet, turning upon the -prelate; ‘I have asked for a trial, open and fair; I cannot -get one. I have no wish to be your representative, gentlemen; -but what I do wish is, that the whole body of clergy here -should protest unanimously against these arbitrary judgments, -and insist on impartiality in our judges.’</p> - -<p>He sat down. A murmur of sympathy ran through the -crowd. A curé of the town of Évreux sprang up.</p> - -<p>‘How shall we best declare our indignation at the exercise -of authority which is unjust and arbitrary? Surely by electing -the man who has thus signally been ill-treated. I second the -nomination of M. Lindet.’</p> - -<p>‘I refuse to put his name to the meeting,’ said the bishop.</p> - -<p>‘My brother!’ exclaimed Monseigneur de la Ferronnais, -‘you are throwing everything into their hands. Be cool.’</p> - -<p>‘You are not competent to refuse,’ said the Abbé Lecerf. -‘If you abdicate your place as president, we shall elect another -president. As long as you occupy the chair, monseigneur, -you must propose whoever is named.’</p> - -<p>‘I contend,’ spoke the dean, rising slowly, ‘that this proposal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> -is indecent. There are certain charges which it is not -well should be given to the world, and discussed in public. -If the bishop sees fit to exercise his prerogative, and to secretly -punish a priest without publishing his reasons, he is perfectly -justified in so doing. It is necessary to screen the Church -from scandal.’</p> - -<p>‘It is never justice to condemn unheard,’ said Lecerf.</p> - -<p>‘We have groaned too long under this arbitrary exercise -of power. The bishop may suspend and inhibit any congruist -in his diocese,’ exclaimed another priest. ‘If he chooses, he -can at any future occasion, when his gracious Majesty summons -us again,—he can, I say, hold the election in his own hands -by suspending and inhibiting all those who are stipendiary -curates, and thus throw all the power into the scale of the -high clergy.’</p> - -<p>‘It is a question of liberty to elect or of servitude,’ shouted -another curé.</p> - -<p>‘Gentlemen,’ said an old ecclesiastic of Évreux, ‘I was -present last autumn during a conversation between the bishop’s -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officiel</i>, M. Ponce, and an abbé, whom I see before me, but -will not name,—an abbé, gentlemen, whom I have noticed to -be exceedingly diligent in whipping up voters on the side of -privilege. During the conversation at which I was present, -the name of M. Lindet, curé of Bernay, was mentioned. The -abbé here present stated that he had heard rumours of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -intention of some of the clergy of the deanery of Bernay to -make an attempt to nominate M. Lindet as a distinguished -upholder of liberal opinions, and as a priest of much experience -and of great influence. The officer of monseigneur, sitting -yonder in the chair, replied to this that he had discussed the -matter with the bishop, and that they had agreed to stop the -nomination at all ventures. M. Ponce suggested an inhibition, -and he said that the bishop had sent him to Bernay to find -some excuse for serving one on the unfortunate curé of that -parish. I address myself to his Lordship, our president. -Let him deny this if he dares. If he does deny it, I shall -at once mention the name of the abbé whom I heard in -conversation with the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officiel</i>.’</p> - -<p>A storm was instantly evoked: some clamoured for the -name, others called on the bishop to answer, and others -cried ‘Shame, shame!’</p> - -<p>‘Let the name of M. Lindet be put to the meeting?’ asked -the same old priest. ‘His Lordship is sullen. Rise, all who -vote for M. Lindet.’</p> - -<p>Instantly five or six hundred electors sprang up and waved -their hands above their heads.</p> - -<p>‘Those in favour of M. Durand, stand up.’</p> - -<p>There was a clatter, as the voters for the inhibited priest sat -down, and about fifty stood up.</p> - -<p>‘Take the numbers,’ rose in a shout from the others.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p> - -<p>Monseigneur de la Ferronnais held his superior by the arm, or -the Bishop of Évreux would have left the room in a fury.</p> - -<p>‘For Heaven’s sake!’ exclaimed he, ‘do be calm. Accept -this vote, and you will get your own man in as the second -delegate.’</p> - -<p>‘I will have nothing more to say to this assembly of ruffians,’ -said the Bishop of Évreux, wrenching his hand away.</p> - -<p>‘I beseech you remain here.’</p> - -<p>‘Not another moment,’ he said, rising.</p> - -<p>There burst from the mass of priests a shout:</p> - -<p>‘He has vacated the chair!’</p> - -<p>‘Let the Bishop of Lisieux take it!’ cried the Abbé Lecerf.</p> - -<p>‘The Bishop of Lisieux in the chair! Long live the new -president!’</p> - -<p>Monseigneur de la Ferronnais looked at the Bishop of Évreux.</p> - -<p>‘What is to be done?’ he asked.</p> - -<p>‘Take the chair, in God’s name,’ answered the president, -thrusting it towards him; ‘I will not remain here another -moment.’</p> - -<p>‘You must indeed remain,’ said the Bishop of Lisieux, -‘unless you are inclined to pass through all those infuriated -priests to the door. There is no side entrance to be used -as an easy mode of exit.’</p> - -<p>Monseigneur de Narbonne scowled down the hall; his colleague -was right, and he seated himself in the chair of his suffragan.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span></p> - -<p>The Bishop of Lisieux rose to the occasion. As he took -the place of the late president a smile illumined his face—a -smile full of good humour, which was at once reflected from -every face in the saloon.</p> - -<p>‘Be quiet, you babies!’ he said, stretching his right hand -towards the ranks of discontented priests; and then he laughed -a bright, ringing laugh, full of freshness.</p> - -<p>Instantly it was echoed from every part of the room.</p> - -<p>‘I was once in Spain,’ began Monseigneur de la Ferronnais;—Monseigneur -de Narbonne winced;—‘I was once in Spain, -at the city of Pampeluna. I found a crowd of people hurrying -to the great square before the principal church. What did they -rush there for? To see a bull baited. I returned to France. -I stayed a day or two in the cathedral town of Bayonne. -I found the city assembled on the quay of the Adour. Wherefore? -To enjoy the sport of bear-baiting. Gentlemen! I -have seen a bull baited, I have seen a bear baited, but never -till this day have I witnessed the baiting of a bishop.’</p> - -<p>He spoke with emphasis, and with that ease of gesture which -a Frenchman knows so well how to make good use of. His -words raised a storm of laughter and cheers. The Bishop of -Évreux writhed in his chair. His suffragan turned towards -him, extended his arms as though to embrace him, laid his -head on one side, and in a tone full of commiseration said: -‘He is down! shall we spare him? In the arena of ancient<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -Rome, the gladiator who fell elevated the index of his right hand -to ask pity of the spectators—— I see—’ Monseigneur de -Narbonne had his hand up to stop his colleague, but at the -allusion, he instantly withdrew it with a frown. ‘Now, my good -spectators, who are also his assailants, do you stand <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">presso</i> -or <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">verso pollice</i>? That is right! You are spared, my Lord -Bishop of Évreux.’</p> - -<p>He seated himself with rapid motion, and crossed his legs; -then, composing his face, he said:</p> - -<p>‘I suppose I need not have voting-papers upon M. Lindet. -It is hardly necessary for me to put his name before you again, -but we must proceed formally. M. Lindet has been proposed -by the Abbé Lecerf, and seconded by M. Rigaud. Those in -favour of M. Lindet, hold up their hands.’</p> - -<p>He counted the raised palms, collectedly, rank by rank, -requesting each row when counted to lower their hands.</p> - -<p>‘Those opposed to M. Lindet, hold up their hands.’</p> - -<p>In a minute, he declared Thomas Lindet elected delegate -to the National Assembly.</p> - -<p>‘Now, gentlemen,’ said the president, ‘I wish in no way -to influence your votes in other ways than that of sobriety -and consideration. You must remember that the Church will -not be fairly represented at the States-General, if those in -the enjoyment of benefices be wholly excluded. Choose for -your second delegate one as liberal, nay, as revolutionary in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -his views as you please, but pray choose one who may -represent the moneyed interests of the Church. I leave it to -your sense of justice and propriety.’</p> - -<p>This little speech was received with hearty applause.</p> - -<p>M. de la Lande was proposed, seconded, and carried almost -unanimously.</p> - -<p>The Bishop of Lisieux turned to his angry brother prelate, -and whispered:</p> - -<p>‘Now we have got your own man in. You see what may -be done with good-humour. If you had attempted to browbeat -those curés any longer, they would have elected as their second -representative a more furious democrat than even Lindet -himself.’</p> - -<p>‘I have had humiliations enough to bear without being made -the butt of your jokes before a rabble,’ answered Monseigneur -de Narbonne, sullenly.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat16"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Gabrielle</span> had found a temporary asylum at the house of -Robert Lindet, the lawyer. Robert lived in a small villa, with -his brother Peter, on the side of the road to Brionne and -Rouen. The house stood back from the dusty highway, with -a long strip of garden before it, and a high wall completely -shutting it off from the road. A row of trees occupied one -side of the garden, ending in a green ivy-covered arbour, in -which no one ever sat, as it occupied an angle in the high -walls, and commanded no view, and was by its position excluded -from air and light.</p> - -<p>The garden was poor. Two little patches of flowers—larkspur -and escholtzia and white lilies—were nearly the only -ones that grew in it; the two former sowed themselves, and -the latter remained where it had been planted in Robert’s -youth. The rest of the garden was turf. On it stood a -hutch of white rabbits with black noses, which were constantly -escaping over the garden and destroying the flowers. The -house front consisted of two parts, the portion occupied by -the lawyer and his brother, and that given over to the cook<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -and kitchen, which latter portion was an incongruous adjunct -to the trim little house. The kitchen was on the ground-floor, -and a ladder staircase in the open air gave access to the bedroom -above.</p> - -<p>The house—little altered—is at present the abode of the -Chaplain to the Convent of the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament.</p> - -<p>The lower rooms of the house being turned into offices, the -brothers were wont, in cold weather, to sit over the fire in the -kitchen, where Gabrielle presided.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle was not happy. That last piercing cry of her -protectress and friend, Madame Berthier, had entered her -heart, and stuck there like a barbed arrow. As she lay -awake at night, she thought of the huge prison, dark and -cold, down whose passages no sunbeams streamed, and of the -poor lady alone there, in solitude and despair. During the -day she thought of her,—of the cold she must feel in her cell, -of the deprivation of scenes of beauty and life. ‘I ought to -do something for her, but what can I do!’ She asked those -who knew anything about Paris whether there would be a -possibility of her obtaining admission to the Bastille, to wait -upon the prisoner, but they all replied with a shake of the head.</p> - -<p>On March 25th, Etienne Percenez was sitting in the kitchen -with the brothers Lindet, whilst Gabrielle washed dishes and -forks and spoons at the sink in the window.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span></p> - -<p>The conversation had run upon the political movements -of the day, the abuses needing correction, the rights of the -people which required acknowledgment. Gabrielle had listened -without much interest, and the names of Necker, Artois, -Sartines, De Brienne, &c., had entered her ear without attracting -her attention, when all at once it was arrested by a remark -of the colporteur:</p> - -<p>‘The Bastille and the lettres-de-cachet! Have they been -protested against?’</p> - -<p>‘The time has not come,’ said Robert Lindet; ‘our cahiers -mention grievances of which we are personally cognizant. -When the States-general meet, then every nook and cranny -of the old <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">régime</i> will be searched and swept out.’</p> - -<p>‘What can be more iniquitous than the lettre-de-cachet?’ -asked Percenez; ‘the king gives blank forms for any one to -fill in, and thus lives and liberties are sacrificed without trial. -Saint-Florentin gave away fifty-thousand. What became of -these blank orders of imprisonment? They were matters of -traffic; fathers were shut up by their sons, husbands by their -wives; Government clerks, their mistresses, and the friends -of the mistresses,—any pretty woman of easy virtue inconvenienced -by a strait-laced husband or father or mother, with -a little civility, flattery, money, could get these terrible orders -by which to bury those they desired to get rid of.’</p> - -<p>‘And sometimes,’ said Robert, ‘the Bastille was an easy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -payment of a State debt. The Baron and Baroness Beausoleil -spent their fortune and their time in opening valuable mines. -When all their wealth was gone, they applied to Richelieu for -payment, or at least a recognition of their services. The -recognition was accorded them. They were shut up for life -in the Bastille, apart from one another, and separated for -ever from their children!’</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ exclaimed Peter; ‘this is too bad. You know that -the king had abolished these lettres-de-cachet. Why do you -rake up old grievances which are long dead?’</p> - -<p>‘Dead grievances!’ said Stephen Percenez; ‘you forget, -Monsieur Pierre, they are only asleep, not dead. It is true -Louis XVI has forbidden the incarceration of any one at the -request of their families, without a well-grounded reason. -But who is to be judge of the soundness of the reason? -And who forced him to decree that?—Madame Legros.’</p> - -<p>‘Madame Legros!’ said Gabrielle, coming forward; ‘tell -me, who was she?’</p> - -<p>‘Did you never hear of Latude?’ asked Percenez.</p> - -<p>‘Never,’ answered Gabrielle. ‘Was he a prisoner?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, for thirty-four years in Bicêtre and the Bastille, thrown -into the worst dungeons, by the spite of a woman—a harlot, -Madame de Pompadour. He wrote his appeals for mercy, and -pardon for crimes he had never committed, on rags, in his -own blood; then they buried him in holes underground without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -light, where he spent long years in domesticating rats. -Once a memorial addressed to some philanthropist or other—one -memorial out of a hundred, was lost by a drunken jailer—a -woman picked it up. That woman was a poor mercer, who -sat stitching in her shop door. She picked up the fluttering -sheet and read it, and resolved to liberate the miserable -sufferer.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle bent forward, with her eyes fixed on the -speaker.</p> - -<p>‘What did she do?’ she asked, eagerly.</p> - -<p>‘What did she not do?’ returned Étienne Percenez; ‘she -worried every great man to whom she could obtain access -with her story of the wrongs of Latude, and his sufferings -in prison. She consecrated her life to his. All kinds of -misfortune beset her, but she held firmly to her cause. Her -husband remonstrated with her—he called her enthusiasm -folly, for her business failed, as well it might, when her time -was spent in seeking audiences with great Lords and high -Churchmen, and when her attention was fixed on something -other than caps and gowns. Her father died, then her mother. -Slanderous tales were raised about her: it was asserted that -she was the mistress of the prisoner, for whose liberation she -laboured, and sacrificed all. The police threatened her; but -she remained invincible. The story of Latude’s sufferings -and of Madame Legros’ self-devotion spread through France,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> -whispered from one to another. In the depths of winter, on -foot, far advanced in pregnancy, the brave woman set out -for Versailles, resolved to appeal at head-quarters. She -found a femme de chambre inclined to take her memorial to -the queen, but an abbé passing snatched it from her hand, -and tore it up, bidding her not attempt to meddle. Cardinal -de Rohan—he, you know, who was concerned in the affair of -the necklace—was good-natured, and he endeavoured to move -Louis XVI to pardon Latude—pardon him for what? for having -in some way caused annoyance to his grandfather’s mistress; -in what way?—nobody knows. Three times the king refused -to pardon and liberate this man whose life had been wasted -in a prison. At last, in 1784, Madame Legros had so worked -on public opinion, that the king was forced to release him. -You see what woman can do!’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle raised her eyes and hands to heaven.</p> - -<p>‘May God enable me to do the same for Madame Berthier!’ -she cried.</p> - -<p>‘There now, Étienne,’ said Robert, with a curl of the lip; -‘you have applied a match to a barrel of gunpowder.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! if it were to blow down the walls of the Bastille!’ said -the pedlar, shaking his brown head.</p> - -<p>‘Dear friend,’ said the girl, laying her hand on Percenez’ -arm; ‘she who saved me in my hour of deepest need, she -who stood between me and ruin, is now in that awful place.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> -Her last cry was to me to save her. Tell me, what can -I do?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing, absolutely nothing, except washing up dishes,’ -answered Robert Lindet.</p> - -<p>She did not attend to him, but looked straight into Percenez’ -eyes. The girl was so beautiful, so earnest and enthusiastic, -that the colporteur gazed on her with admiration, and did -not answer.</p> - -<p>‘I must do something,’ she proceeded to say; ‘I hear her -voice calling me, night and day. That cry of “Gabrielle, save -me!” haunts me. I am tortured with inactivity.’</p> - -<p>‘My good girl,’ Robert observed, ‘there is not the slightest -occasion for inactivity. There are the floors to be scoured, -and the cobwebs to be brushed away, and the dishes to be -washed.’</p> - -<p>‘Good, kind master!’ cried the girl, turning to him; ‘you -have received me when I was homeless. But did I not -tell you that I could not remain in your service? I warned -you that I had something to do that must be done——’</p> - -<p>‘Fudge!’ said the lawyer. ‘You women are highflown, -crazy creatures. You can do nothing for Madame Berthier; -content yourself with the certainty of that, and stick to your -kitchen-work, or, if you like it better, feed the rabbits.’</p> - -<p>Percenez smiled. A smile on his rugged brown countenance -was rare, and it had meaning whenever it appeared.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span></p> - -<p>‘Excuse me, M. Lindet,’ he said; ‘I have faith in -enthusiasm. Before that every barrier goes down. It is -absolutely unconquerable.’</p> - -<p>‘Enthusiasm is faith run to extravagance,’ answered the -lawyer. ‘Enthusiasm is good for a dash, but it is not fit for -continuous work. Enthusiasm would level a mountain, but -it would never reconstruct it.’</p> - -<p>‘Hark!’ exclaimed Peter, holding up his finger.</p> - -<p>The others were silent and listened. They heard the bells -of S. Cross pealing merrily.</p> - -<p>‘What can be the occasion?’ asked Percenez.</p> - -<p>Peter took his pipe out of his mouth, and walked slowly -into the garden. Robert and Stephen followed him. From -the high stone wall the clamour of the bells was echoed -noisily.</p> - -<p>‘It is very odd,’ said Robert; ‘what can be the reason?’</p> - -<p>At that moment the garden-door opened, and M. Lamy, -one of the curates (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">vicaires</i>) of Bernay, rushed in, his face -beaming with pleasure.</p> - -<p>‘Well! what is the news?’ asked Percenez.</p> - -<p>‘The best, the very best of news,’ answered the priest. -‘M. Thomas Lindet is elected delegate of the clergy to the -Estates-general.’</p> - -<p>‘An enthusiast,’ said Robert, with a smile aside to -Percenez.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span></p> - -<p>‘Ah! M. Robert, and it is just his enthusiasm which has -taken him ahead of all the rest of the class, and turned him -into a delegate.’</p> - -<p>Whilst Robert and Peter talked with M. Lamy, the little -brown colporteur turned back to the kitchen, and said to -Gabrielle: ‘Well, what about your protectress?’</p> - -<p>‘My friend,’ answered Gabrielle, earnestly and vehemently; -‘I shall go to Paris, if I go on foot, and I shall see what -can be done. I will implore the queen on my knees to use -her influence to obtain the release of Madame Berthier.’</p> - -<p>‘You forget; that lady is not shut up as a political offender, -but because she is insane.’</p> - -<p>‘I will do what I can,’ answered the girl, simply. ‘She -has no one else to assist her—no one else to speak for her.’</p> - -<p>‘You are only a peasant-girl.’</p> - -<p>‘Well! what was Madame Legros?’</p> - -<p>‘Are you resolved?’</p> - -<p>She put her hand on her heart.</p> - -<p>‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I have no rest here. I shall have -no rest till I have done my utmost.’</p> - -<p>‘Paris is a dangerous place for a young and pretty maiden.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! Monsieur Étienne, the good God, who raised up a -protectress for me in my need before, will deliver me in any -future peril.’</p> - -<p>‘What have you to live upon in Paris?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span></p> - -<p>‘I do not know.’</p> - -<p>‘You must bear in mind that great distress exists there, -that money is scarce and provisions are dear.’</p> - -<p>‘God will provide.’</p> - -<p>‘He will provide if He calls you there, not otherwise.’</p> - -<p>‘Is it not His call that I hear now?’ asked the girl, her -face brightening with enthusiasm. ‘My friend, my father’s -friend, listen to me. There is a something within me, I -cannot tell you what it is, which draws me from this place -after my dear, unfortunate madame. Only yesterday I was -walking in the wood above La Couture. I went to pray at -a crucifix which I well know, for it was there that M. Lindet -first stood my champion against him whom I will not name. -I prayed there—I cannot tell you for how long, and I asked -for a sign—a sign what I was to do.’ She paused timidly, -dropped her eyes, and continued in a whisper: ‘Whilst I -was on my knees, all on an instant I felt something leap -upon my shoulder.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, child, what was it?’ asked Percenez with a smile.</p> - -<p>‘It was Madame Berthier’s yellow cat, it looked so lean and -neglected, and its yellow dye was nearly worn off it. It knew -me, for it rubbed its head against my cheek.’</p> - -<p>‘Nonsense, Gabrielle, do you call <em>that</em> a sign?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, Monsieur Étienne, it was a sign to me. It would -not have been so to anyone else, may be, but I know what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -that cat was to the poor lady, I know what she suffers -now in being separated from it; and, if it were only to -restore her cat to her, I would walk barefoot all the way -to Paris.’</p> - -<p>‘I suspect the only success you will meet with will be -that.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, and that will be something.’</p> - -<p>‘You are a resolute girl.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur Étienne, I <em>must</em> go.’</p> - -<p>‘Why so?’</p> - -<p>‘If I did not go, I should die.’</p> - -<p>The little brown man looked fixedly at her, and then said:</p> - -<p>‘Gabrielle, I have known you from a little girl. I am -going to Paris. Like you, I <em>must</em> go. I am fixed with a -desire to see the working out of this great problem, the -States-General. Gabrielle! the French people are like your -Madame Berthier, chained and in prison. I do not know -whether my feeble voice will avail to effect their release. -You do not know whether yours will liberate one individual -out of that great suffering family. Well! we go in hope, -vague may be, but earnest, and resolved to do our best. -We shall go together.’</p> - -<p>‘What do you say, monsieur?’</p> - -<p>‘I will go and visit my sister, Madame Deschwanden, and -shall take you with me. We shall see what takes place.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span></p> - -<p>‘You will help me to get to Paris?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I will.’</p> - -<p>Miaw! The yellow cat, which had been asleep in a corner, -was now wide awake, and at a bound had reached Gabrielle’s -shoulder.</p> - -<p>How merrily in Gabrielle’s ear sounded the bells of S. Cross!</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat17"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Old</span> Paris is no more. Every day some feature of the -ancient capital disappears. This is a commonplace remark. -Everyone says it; but few realize how true it is. We, who -revisit that queen of cities after an interval of—say, ten years, -see mighty changes. Streets are open where were houses -once; markets have altered their sites; squares occupy the -place where we remember piles of decaying houses; churches -appear, where we did not know that they stood, so buried -were they in high, many-storied houses.</p> - -<p>We can breathe in Paris now. Down the boulevards the -breeze can now rustle and sweep away the stale odours which -once hung all the year round ancient Paris.</p> - -<p>But we have no conception of what that capital was in -1789. Paris had grown without system. None had drawn -out a plan of what it was to be, where the streets were to -run, and where squares were to open. The thoroughfares -had come by chance, without order, without law, almost -without object; the streets twisted and wound their way -between walls black with smoke, and overhanging; the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> -houses, with their feet in mud and garbage, and their heads -in smoke, stood sideways to the road, as though they turned -away to avoid a disagreeable sight and odour. Their narrow -front to the street was topped with a high-pitched gable, -unless some modern architect had squared it off. Here and -there were cemeteries adjoining markets, a refuse heap on -which lay dead animals in putrefaction, nooks, where beggars -crouched in rags, blind alleys in which squalid children played, -open sewers, and public cesspools.</p> - -<p>The Seine, spanned by five bridges encumbered with low -vessels moored head and stern, out of which the washer-women -cleaned their dirty linen, resembled a wide stagnant -ditch. The fall being slight, the river but leisurely carried -off the filth from the sewers, the soap from the washing-boats, -and the dye that flowed into it from the factories. -Add to this the slops and sewage of the Hôtel Dieu, which -contained six thousand patients suffering from all the loathsome -disorders to which human nature is subject, and one can -appreciate the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon-mot</i> of Foote, when he was asked by a -Parisian whether he had such a river in London, ‘No, we -had such an one, but we stopped it up (alluding to the -Fleet Ditch); at present, we have only the Thames.’</p> - -<p>Beneath the Pont Nôtre Dame, a net was every night let -down to stop the bodies of drowned men, and of such as -were murdered and thrown into the river.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span></p> - -<p>At seven in the morning, twice a week, a bell was rung -through the streets for the inhabitants to sweep before their -houses; but for this, there would have been no possibility of -walking, there being no foot-way.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle and the little brown Percenez entered Paris on the -28th of April. The streets, crowded with people, astonished -the girl. Her eyes turned with wonder from side to side. -The height of the houses, the intricacy of the streets, the -antiquity of the buildings, the number of crossings, shops, -coffee-houses, stalls, were such as she had never seen before. -Her ears were assailed by the cries of fruiterers and pedlars -of all sorts with their carts, and by the rattle and rumble of -wheels upon the stone pavement. As a coach drove by, the -girl and her conductor stepped up against the wall, there -being no footway; when a couple of carriages met, it was -often difficult to avoid being run over. The hackney coaches, -distinguished then, as they are now, by numbers in yellow -painted on their backs, jolted past in shoals. Uneasy, dirty -vehicles they were, with a board slung behind the coach-box, -upon which the driver stood. Trim little sedan chairs -on wheels some thirty inches high, dragged by a man between -shafts like the handles of a wheelbarrow, dived in and -out among the stalls and carriages, and rattled jauntily and -expeditiously along. Sometimes a grand coach, behind which -were suspended footmen in livery, with long white staves,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> -rolled down solemnly and slowly, scattering the hucksters and -sedan chairs, as a hawk disperses a flight of sparrows.</p> - -<p>‘Do you notice, Gabrielle,’ said Percenez, ‘the wheels of -the private carriages are girt with tires made in small pieces, -whilst the hired fiacres have their wheels girt with hoops -of iron in one piece? You would be surprised, little girl, -how much envy the jointed tires excite; for only gentlemen -of birth are entitled to use them.’</p> - -<p>‘Are we going the right way, Monsieur Étienne?’ asked -Gabrielle, timidly, for she was so bewildered by the novelty -of her position, that she thought the streets of Paris a tangle -in which none could fail to lose the way.</p> - -<p>‘Be not afraid, we are bound for the street S. Antoine. -I know the road. I was here only five years ago, and Paris -is not a place to change in a hurry.’</p> - -<p>Just then they heard a body of voices shouting a song. -Gabrielle looked round, and exclaimed:—</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Monsieur Étienne, here is a great mob advancing. -What is to be done?’</p> - -<p>‘Do not be afraid,’ answered the little man; ‘listen, what -is it they are chanting?’</p> - -<p>The words were audible. As the band approached, every -man, woman, and child joined in the song:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘Vive le tiers état de France!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Il aura la prépondérance</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sur le prince, sur le prélat.</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p> - <div class="verse indent0">Ahi! povera nobilita!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Le plébéien, puits de science,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">En lumières, en expérience,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Surpasse le prêtre et magistrat,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ahi! povera nobilita!’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Percenez took off his hat, and waved it with a cheer.</p> - -<p>On they came, a legion, a billow of human beings, bearing -before them an effigy, raised aloft, of a large man with a -white waistcoat, a snuff-coloured coat, a powdered wig, and -wearing a decoration, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cordon-noir</i>. The figure rocked -upon the shoulders of the men who carried it, and the bystanders -hooted and laughed. Away before the mob flew -the hackney coaches and the wheeled chairs, like the ‘povera -nobilita’ escaping from the rising people. Heads appeared -at the windows; from some casements kerchiefs were fluttered; -from most, faces looked down without expressing -special interest or enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>The little brown colporteur caught the sleeve of a man -who sold onions.</p> - -<p>‘What effigy is that?’ he asked.</p> - -<p>‘That is Réveillon,’ was the answer.</p> - -<p>‘And who is he?’</p> - -<p>‘A paper-maker.’</p> - -<p>‘Why are the mob incensed against him?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span></p> - -<p>‘He has made a great fortune, and is now bent on reducing -the wages of his workmen.’</p> - -<p>‘Is that all?’</p> - -<p>‘And he has received, or is about to receive, a decoration.’</p> - -<p>Percenez shrugged his shoulders; the onion-seller did the -same.</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur Étienne!’ said Gabrielle, timidly; ‘do let us -retire before this crowd. It will swallow us up.’</p> - -<p>‘You are right, child; we will get out of the way. I have -no interest in this affair.’</p> - -<p>He drew her back into a large doorway with a wicket gate -in it. They stepped through this wicket into the carriage-way -to the yard within. A violent barking saluted them. -At the same moment, a gentleman emerged upon one of -the galleries that surrounded the court, and, leaning on the -balcony, called—</p> - -<p>‘Gustave!’</p> - -<p>‘Eh, monsieur?’ exclaimed the porter, starting from his -room.</p> - -<p>‘Shut and lock the door, before the mob come up.’</p> - -<p>Percenez and Gabrielle recognised the voice and face of -Berthier. Before Gustave could fasten the gate, the girl -dragged her companion back into the street; in another -moment they were caught in the advancing wave, and swept -onwards towards the Faubourg S. Antoine.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span></p> - -<p>What followed passed as a dream. Gabrielle saw rough -faces on all sides of her, wild eyes, bushy beards and moustaches. -She heard the roar of hoarse voices chanting; she -felt the thrust and crush around her, and her feet moved -rapidly, otherwise she would have fallen and been trodden -down. She clung to Percenez, and the little man held her -hand tightly in his own. It was strange to Gabrielle afterwards -to remember distinctly a host of objects, trivial in -themselves, which impressed themselves on her memory in -that march. There was a man before her with a blue handkerchief -tied over his hat and under his chin. The corner -of this kerchief hung down a little on the right, and Gabrielle -would have had it exactly in the middle. The green coat -of a fellow bearing a pole and an extemporized flag attached -to it, had been split up the back and mended with brown -thread. In one place only was the thread black. Gabrielle -remembered the exact spot in the coat where the brown -thread ended and the black thread began. The great man -who marched on her left had a bottle of leeches in his hand, -and he was filled with anxiety to preserve the glass from -being broken. How came he among the crowd? Gabrielle -wondered, and formed various conjectures. He was very -careful of his leeches, but also very determined to remain -in the midst of the throng. Above the heads and hats and -caps rocked the image of the paper manufacturer, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span> -Gabrielle saw the arms flap and swing, as it was jerked from -side to side by the bearers. A dead cat whizzed through -the air, and struck the effigy on the head, knocking the -three-cornered hat sideways. The mob shouted and stood -still. Then one of the men who preceded them with a banner -laid his pole across the street, and shouted for the cat. -It was tossed over the heads of the people, and he picked -it up and attached it to the neck of the image of Réveillon. -Then he reared his banner again, and the crowd flowed -along as before.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle took advantage of the halt to peep into a basket -she carried on her arm. As she raised the lid, a paw was -protruded, and a plaintive miaw announced to her that the -yellow cat she had brought with her was tired of its imprisonment, -and alarmed at the noise.</p> - -<p>All at once the pressure on every side became less, the rioters -had moved out of the narrow street into an open space. The -girl looked up. Before her rose dark massive towers,—she -could see five at a glance; one stood at an angle towards the -street, drums of towers crenelated at top, and capped with -pepper-boxes for the sentinels. The walls were pierced at -rare intervals with narrow slits. One window only, of moderate -dimensions, was visible, and that was high up in the -angle-tower, oblong, narrow, cut across with a huge stone -transom, and netted over with iron stanchions. The walls<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span> -were black with age and smoke. The sunlight that fell -upon them did not relieve their tint, but marked them with -shadows black as night.</p> - -<p>Adjoining the street was a high wall, against which were -built shops and taverns. These, however, ceased to encumber -the wall near the gate, which was in the Italian -style, low pedimented, and adorned with the arms of France -in a shield. Through slits on either side moved the great -beams of the drawbridge.</p> - -<p>As Gabrielle looked, awe-struck, at this formidable building, -she heard the clank of chains and the creak of a windlass, -and slowly the great arms rose and carried up with them -a bridge that shut over the mouth of the gate, as though -there were secrets within which might not be uttered in the -presence of that crowd.</p> - -<p>The mob fell into line before the gate and moat that protected -it, facing it with threatening looks. All at once, with -a roar like that of an advancing tidal wave, there burst from -the mob, with one consent, the curse—‘Down with the -Bastille!’</p> - -<p>Then they faced round again, and rushed upon the factory -of Réveillon, situated under the towers of the terrible fortress.</p> - -<p>‘Up to the lanthorn!’</p> - -<p>The cry was responded to by a general shout. In another -moment a rope was flung over the chain stretched across<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span> -the street from which the lanthorn lighting the street was -suspended, and the effigy of Réveillon dangled in the air. -This execution was greeted with yells of applause; men and -women joined hands and danced under the figure. Some -threw sticks and stones at it; these falling on the heads of -the spectators, added to the confusion. At last, a young -man, catching the legs of the image, mounted it, and seated -himself astride on the shoulders. He removed the three-cornered -hat and wig and placed them on his own head, -amidst laughter and applause. The strain upon the lanthorn-chain -was, however, too great, and one of the links yielding -at the moment when the youth stood upon Réveillon’s -shoulders and began a dance, he, the effigy, and the lanthorn -were precipitated into the street. What became of -the man nobody knew, and nobody cared; the image was -danced upon and trodden into the dirt; the lanthorn was -shivered to pieces, and the glass cut the feet of those who -trampled on it.</p> - -<p>The factory doors were shut and barred; the windows -were the same. The rioters hurled themselves against the -great gates, which were studded with iron, but they could not -burst them open. Some shouted for fire, others for a beam -which might be driven against them, and so force them open. -But the banner-bearer in the green coat stitched with black -and brown thread laid his pole against the side of the house,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span> -swarmed up it, axe in hand, and smote lustily at the shutters -of one of the windows. The splinters flew before his -strokes, and soon one of the valves broke from its hinges, -and slid down the wall. Next minute, the green man was -inside, waving his hat to the people, who cheered in response.</p> - -<p>They fell back from the door. Another man crept in at the -broken window, and joined the fellow who had cut his way -through the shutter. The two together unfastened the door, -and the mob poured into Réveillon’s factory. Adjoining was -the house of Réveillon. Its doors were forced open at the same -time as the paper-making establishment. The private entrance -to an upper storey of the workshops from the house was burst -by those in the factory, and the mob crowding in from the -street met that breaking in from above. The besiegers having -now taken complete possession, and meeting with no resistance -(for Réveillon had taken refuge in the Bastille, and his servants -had fled,) they spread themselves over the premises from attic -to cellar. The workmen lately employed to make and dye the -paper were foremost in breaking the machinery, and in tapping -the large vats in which the white pulp lay, thus flooding the -floors with what looked like curdled milk. Some descended -to the cellars and drank the wine stored for Réveillon’s table, -others drank the dyes, mistaking them for wine, and rolled in -agony in the whey-like fluid on the ground, spluttering out the -crimson and green liquors they had imbibed. Those who had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span> -axes, and those who had armed themselves with fragments of -the machinery, smashed mirrors, tables, pictures, broke open -drawers and destroyed all the movables within reach, and then -flung them through the windows among the crowd below. -Among other objects discovered was a portrait in oils of Réveillon; -this was literally minced up by the rioters, who waxed -more furious as they found material on which to expend their -rage. Two men, armed with a great saw, began to cut through -the main rafters of the great room of the factory. When those -who thronged this appartement saw what was taking place, -they were filled with panic, and rushed to the door, or flung -themselves out of the windows, to escape being trampled down -by those behind. Some, entering the rag-store, rent open the -bales, and strewed the tatters about in all directions. One -man—it was he with the leeches—holding his bottle, still unemptied -and unbroken, in one hand, applied a torch to the -rag-heaps, and set the store in a blaze; others fired the warehouse -of paper. Flames issued from the cellars of Réveillon’s -house. It was apparent to all the rioters within, that, unless -they made a speedy exit, they would perish in the fire. Instantly -a rush was made to the doors. As they poured through -them, a horizontal flash of light darted into their eyes, followed -by a rattling discharge, and several of the foremost rioters -rolled on the pavement.</p> - -<p>Late in the day, when all the mischief was done, a regiment<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span> -of Grenadiers had been ordered to the spot by the commandant -of that quarter of the town, M. de Châtelet.</p> - -<p>The mob replied to the volley by hurling paving-stones, -broken pieces of Réveillon’s furniture, iron fragments of the -machinery; in short, anything ready at hand.</p> - -<p>The man with the bottle of leeches ran out into the middle -of the street, a torch in his right hand, flourished the firebrand -over his head, and called on his companions to follow him -against the soldiers. Two or three started forwards. The -military fired again. The man leaped high into the air, hurled -his firebrand into their midst, and fell his length, shot through -the heart; his bottle broke, and the leeches wriggled over his -prostrate form.</p> - -<p>The Grenadiers did not fire again. A rumbling noise was -heard, and along with it the tramp of advancing feet. In -another moment the red uniforms of the Swiss soldiers gleamed -out of the shadow of the street, and a battalion with fixed -bayonets charged down the square in front of the Grenadiers, -sweeping the mob before them. In their rear were a couple -of cannon, drawn by horses, which were rapidly placed in -position to clear the streets. But they were not discharged. -The Grenadiers wheeled and charged in the direction opposite -to that taken by the Swiss, and in a few minutes the scene -of the riot was deserted by all save the dead and the dying, -and the inhabitants looking anxiously from their windows.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span></p> - -<p>Why had not the soldiers been sent earlier?</p> - -<p>On the preceding day the mob had threatened this attack, -but had been prevented from accomplishing their intention by -the train of carriages that encumbered the road through the -Faubourg S. Antoine, the 27th April being the day of the Charenton -races. They had contented themselves with stopping -all the carriages, and shouting through the windows, ‘Long -live the Third Estate!’ The carriage of the Duke of Orleans -had been alone excepted. The people had surrounded it, and -cheered vociferously.</p> - -<p>The reason why the destruction of Réveillon’s factory was -permitted by Berthier the Intendant, and Besenval the Commandant -of the Forces in and around Paris, was that the Court -had taken alarm at the threatening attitude of the third estate -and the people of the metropolis, and it hoped to have an -excuse for concentrating troops on Versailles and Paris.</p> - -<p>The elections at Paris were not completed, the Estates-General -had not met, but the crowd of nobles, headed by the -Count d’Artois and the Princes of Condé and Conti, had seen -that the King, by calling together the three estates, and by -permitting Necker to double the representation of the Commons, -had created a Frankenstein, which, if allowed to use -its power, would strangle privilege. The Count d’Artois ruled -the Queen, and the Queen ruled the weak, good-natured -King. Marie Antoinette had imbibed fears from the Count,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> -and had communicated them to the King, and he had begun -to feel restless and anxious about the great assembly, which -he had convoked. He could not prevent its meeting, but he -could constrain its utterances, and he only wanted an excuse -for massing around it the army, to force the third estate to -vote money, and to keep silence on the subject of reform.</p> - -<p>But where are Percenez and Gabrielle? We have lost sight -of them in the crowd. We must return to their side. We -left them before the Bastille, as the mob rolled towards -Réveillon’s factory.</p> - -<p>‘Now, my child, hold fast to me,’ said the colporteur; ‘my -sister lives near this,—yonder, under the wall. She is married -again; I always forget her new name,—it is not that of a -Christian—at least, it is not a French name. She has married -one of the Swiss guard, a widower, with a tall, hulking son, and -she has got a daughter by her late-husband, Madeleine. Ah! -you will like her,—a nice girl, but giddy.’</p> - -<p>The little man worked his way through the crowd till he -had brought Gabrielle before a small house that abutted upon -the outer wall of the fortress. The door was shut and locked, -and Percenez knocked at it in vain; then he beat against the -window-glass, but no one answered, the fact being that his -sister, Madame Deschwanden—such was the name unpronouncable -by French lips—and her daughter, Madeleine -Chabry, were upstairs, looking out of the window at the mob<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span> -and its doings, and were deaf to the clatter at their own door. -Percenez soon discovered the faces of his sister and niece, and -stepping back to where he could be seen by them, signalled -to them, and shouted their names.</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ screamed Madame Deschwanden, clasping her hands, -then throwing them round her daughter’s neck, and kissing her, -‘there is my brother Stephen! Is it possible? Stephen, is -that really you? What brought you here? How are all the -good people at Bernay? I am charmed! Madeleine, I shall -die of joy.’</p> - -<p>‘Will you let us in, good sister?’</p> - -<p>‘Who is that with you? You must tell me. But wait! -I will open the door myself. Oh ecstasy! oh raptures! -Praised be Heaven! Come, delicious brother, to my bosom.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat18"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">As</span> soon as Madame Deschwanden had introduced her -brother and Gabrielle to the inside of her house, she fell back, -contemplated Percenez with outspread hands and head on one -side, and then precipitated herself into his arms, exclaiming, -‘Oh ecstasy! oh raptures! it is he.’</p> - -<p>Having extricated herself from her brother’s arms almost as -rapidly as she had fallen into them, she said, ‘Come along to -the window, and see the rest of the fun.’</p> - -<p>She caught Percenez in one hand and Gabrielle in the other, -and drew them upstairs into the room in which she had been -sitting before she descended to admit them.</p> - -<p>‘Étienne, you know my daughter Madeleine, do you not?’ -she asked abruptly; then turning towards the new comer, and -from her to her own daughter, she introduced them:</p> - -<p>‘Madeleine Chabry—Madame Percenez.’</p> - -<p>‘Pardon me,’ said the colporteur, laughing; ‘little Gabrielle -is not my wife.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! a sweetheart.’</p> - -<p>‘No, nor that either.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span></p> - -<p>‘Well, never mind explanations,’ said Madame Deschwanden; -‘they are often awkward, and always unnecessary. Of one -thing I can be certain, mademoiselle is charming, and she is -heartily welcome,’ she curtsied towards the girl, and then vivaciously -changed the subject. ‘The sport! we must not miss it. -Oh! they have got into the factory, and into the house. -Oh! the exquisite, the enchanting things that are being destroyed. -Perfidious heavens! I know there are angelic wall-papers -in that abandoned Réveillon’s shop—I have seen them -with these eyes—and all going to ruin. Saints in Paradise! -such papers with roses and jessamines and Brazilian humming-birds.’ -Then, rushing to the door of the room, she called -loudly, ‘Klaus! Klaus!’</p> - -<p>‘What do you want, mother?’ asked a young man, coming -to the door.</p> - -<p>Percenez and Gabrielle turned to look at him. He was -a slender youth of nineteen, with very light hair and large -blue eyes. His face was somewhat broad, genial, and good-natured. -He was without his coat, his shirt-sleeves were -rolled up his muscular arms, and the collar was open at the -throat, exposing his breast and a little black riband, to which -was attached a medal resting on it.</p> - -<p>‘What do I want!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, -starting from the window into the middle of the room.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span> -‘How can you ask such a question, Klaus? Look at these -walls. They are my answer.’</p> - -<p>‘My dear mother, what do you mean?’</p> - -<p>‘Klaus, you are little better than a fool. The people are -sacking the factory, and there you stand. My faith! it is -enough to make angels swear! And papers—wall-papers, to -be had for nothing—for the mere taking. I saw one myself -with roses and jessamine and humming-birds, and there was -another—another for a large room. I saw it with these -eyes—a paper to paper heaven! with a blue sky and an -Indian forest of palms, and an elephant with a tower on -its back, and a man holding a large red umbrella, and a -tiger in the attitude of death, receiving a shot, and foaming -with rage, and monkeys up a palm. Mon Dieu! you must -get it me at once, or I shall expire. Klaus, I must and will -have those papers.’</p> - -<p>‘You absurd little mother,’ said Klaus, stepping into the -room and laughing; ‘do you think I am going to steal -Réveillon’s goods for you, and get myself and you and father -and Madeleine into trouble? Be content.’</p> - -<p>‘Content!’ exclaimed madame. ‘Who ever heard such -a word? <em>Content!</em> with papers—wall-papers, think of that, -going a-begging. I know that those idiots yonder will burn -the factory and save nothing. Klaus, you seraph, my own -jewel!’ she cast herself on his bosom; ‘to please the mamma,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> -though she be a stepmother in name but never one in -sentiment, to please her who studies your fondest whims. -You know very well,’ said she, suddenly recovering herself, -‘that I put myself out of the way only yesterday for you, -that I sacrificed my own wishes to yours only yesterday. -Did I not prepare veal <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à l’oseille</i> for your dinner, and you -know in your inmost heart that I preferred it <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">aux petits -pois</i>?’ Then instantly becoming indignant, she frowned, -stiffened in every joint, became angular, and said, ‘ingrate!’</p> - -<p>‘My dear, good mother——’</p> - -<p>‘Now look you here,’ she interrupted; ‘we will sit together -on the sofa, in the corner, and whisper together. Come -along.’ She had him by the arm, and dragged him over to -the seat she had indicated, and pinned him into the angle -with her gown, which she spread out before her, as she -subsided beside him.</p> - -<p>‘You know, you rogue, that my wishes are law to you. -Do not deny it. Think of this. I wish, I furiously desire, -I burst with impatience to possess at least one of those -papers. Bring enough to cover all the walls. I see it in -your eyes—you are going! it mantles on your cheek, it -quivers on your tongue. Oh ecstasy! oh raptures!’ she -leaped from her sofa, and running to those at the window -kissed them all, one after the other. ‘He has promised. -This room will speedily be a bower of roses and jessamine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> -and Brazilian humming-birds. Quick, Klaus, mein -sohn!’</p> - -<p>‘He will not go, mother,’ said Madeleine, speaking for the -first time; ‘he is too conscientious.’</p> - -<p>‘Conscientious!’ echoed Madame Deschwanden, covering -her eyes; ‘that I should have lived to hear the word. -Madeleine! he is none of us. He has that nasty German -blood in his veins, and it has made him conscientious. My -aunt’s sister’s son married a Hungarian, and their child was -always afflicted with erysipelas. I attributed it to his -Hungarian blood, poor child! But, Klaus! conquer it, and, -oh! get me the angelic paper—that with the humming-birds, -never mind that with the tiger and the elephant; and so -compromise the matter. I declare, I declare!’ she cried, -darting to the window; ‘they are casting the furniture out -of the house—tables, chairs, and breaking them! To think -of the expense! Ah! there goes a mirror. Madeleine, oh! -if we could have secured that glass. It would have filled the -space above the sideboard to perfection. If I could have -seen myself in that mirror, and called it my own, I could -have died singing.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine darted out of the room, and ran downstairs. -Next moment her mother and Percenez saw her in the crowd, -pushing her way up to the house with resolution and -success.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span></p> - -<p>‘That is my own daughter!’ cried the enraptured lady: -‘she is in everything worthy of me; she is, indeed! She gave -me much trouble as a child, I brought her up at my own -breast, and see how she is ready to repay me. She will -bring me a thousand pretty things. Oh, rapture! As for -Klaus, I will not call him “mein sohn” any more. I will -not frame my lips to utter his Swiss jargon. Go to your -saints, boy; cut and carve away at them, and remember to -your shame that you have refused the entreaty of your mother. -No, thank goodness! I am not your mother. I should have -overlaid you fifty times had you been mine; I might have -guessed what a sort of conscientious creature you would -have grown up.’</p> - -<p>‘What is Klaus’s work?’ asked Percenez, to turn the -subject.</p> - -<p>‘Work!’ repeated Madame Deschwanden, ‘why, he is a -wood-carver; he makes saints for churches, and crucifixes, -and Blessed Virgins, and all that sort of thing, you know; -but it don’t pay now, there’s no demand. Madeleine began -that once, but gave it up. You can’t swim against the -tide.’</p> - -<p>‘Then what is Madeleine’s work now?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! she is flower-girl at Versailles.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle looked up. ‘I am a flower-girl,’ she said, timidly.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, indeed!’ answered Madame Deschwanden, quickly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span> -running her eye over her. ‘You are good-looking, you will -do, only fish in a different pool from Madeleine. But oh, -ecstasy! here comes Madeleine. What has she got?’</p> - -<p>Madeleine was indeed visible pushing her way back from -the factory. She had something in her hands, but what, -was not distinguishable. In another minute she was upstairs -and had deposited a beautiful mother-of-pearl box on the -table, a box of considerable size, and of beautiful workmanship.</p> - -<p>‘What is in it?’ almost shrieked Madame Deschwanden.</p> - -<p>‘My mother, I cannot tell; it is locked, and I have not -the key.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine was nearly out of breath. She leaned against -the table, put her hand against her side, and panted. She -looked so pretty, so bewitching, that Percenez could hardly -be angry with her, though he knew she had done wrong. -Her cheeks were flushed, her dancing black eyes were bright -with triumph, and her attitude was easy and full of grace. -She wore her hair loose, curled and falling over her neck -and shoulders. Her bodice was low, exposing throat and -bosom, both exquisitely moulded; her skirt was short, and -allowed her neat little feet and ankles to be seen in all their -perfection. Gabrielle thought she had never seen so pretty -a girl. She herself was a marked contrast to Madeleine. -She was not so slender and trim in her proportions, nor so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span> -agile in her movements; but her face was full of simplicity, and -that was the principal charm. Madeleine’s features were not so -regular as those of Gabrielle, but there was far more animation -in her face. The deep hazel eyes of the peasant-girl were -steady, the dark orbs of the Parisian flower-girl sparkled and -danced, without a moment’s constancy. A woman’s character -is written on her brow. That of Gabrielle was smooth, and -spoke of purity; the forehead of Madeleine expressed boldness -and assurance.</p> - -<p>‘You are the joy of my life, the loadstar of my existence!’ -exclaimed the mother, embracing her daughter, and then the -box, which she covered with kisses. ‘Oh ecstasy! oh raptures! -this is beautiful. Klaus, lend me one of your tools to -force the box open. Perhaps it contains jewels! Klaus, -quick!’</p> - -<p>The lad placed his hand on the coffer, and said, gravely: -‘I am sorry to spoil your pleasure, dear mother; but this -mother-of-pearl box must be returned.’</p> - -<p>‘Returned!’ echoed madame with scorn,—‘returned to -the mob, who are breaking everything. I never heard such -nonsense.’</p> - -<p>‘Not to the mob, but to M. Réveillon.’</p> - -<p>‘To M. Réveillon! what rubbish you do talk! I shall -keep the box and cherish it. Mon Dieu! would you tear it -from me now that I love it, that I adore it?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span></p> - -<p>‘We shall see, when my father comes,’ said Nicholas -Deschwanden. ‘I have no doubt of his decision.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall kill myself,’ said Madame Deschwanden, ‘and go -to heaven, where I shall be happy, and you will not be able -to rob me of all my pretty things, and pester me with your -conscientious scruples. See if I do not! or I shall run -away with a gentleman who will love me and gratify all my -little innocent whims. See if I do not! And so I shall -leave you and your father to talk your rigmaroles about Alps -and lakes and glaciers, and chant your litanies to Bruder -Klaus and Heiliger Meinrad. See if I don’t!’</p> - -<p>The discharge of musketry interrupted the flow of her -threats, and the vehement little woman was next moment -again at the window.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, how lucky!’ she exclaimed: ‘Madeleine! if you had -been ten minutes later you would have been shot. Count, -Étienne; count, Madeleine; one, two, three, four, oh how -many there are down—killed, poor things! Dear me! I -would not have missed the sight for a thousand livres. Étienne, -Madeleine, you Klaus! come, look, they will fire again. Glorious! -Oh, what fun! Ecstasy! raptures!’</p> - -<p>After the second discharge madame drew attention to the -man who had been shot through the heart—he with the bottle -of leeches.</p> - -<p>‘How he leaped! He would have made his fortune on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span> -the tight-rope. Oh! what would I not have given to have -danced with him. I am certain he was a superb dancer. -Did any of you ever in your life see a male cut such a -caper? Never; it was magnificent, it was prodigious. More -the pity that he is dead. He will never dance again,’ she -said, in a low and sad voice; but brightened up instantly -again with the remark, ‘Ah well! we must all die sooner or -later. Étienne, count the dead, now that the soldiers have -cleared the street and square. My faith! what a pity it is -that dead men are not made serviceable for the table; and -meat is so dear!’ Then suddenly it occurred to the volatile -lady that her brother and his little companion had come to -take up their abode with her—and meat so dear! She attacked -Étienne at once on the point.</p> - -<p>‘My dearest brother, whom I love above everyone—yes, -whom I adore,—I will not deny it, whom I idolize,—tell -me, where are you lodging?’</p> - -<p>‘I thought you could give Gabrielle and me shelter for -awhile,’ answered Percenez. ‘I am sure Madeleine will -share her bed with Gabrielle, my little ward, and I can litter -myself a mattress of straw anywhere.’</p> - -<p>‘And you have not dined yet?’ asked Madame Deschwanden.</p> - -<p>‘No; we have not had time to think of dinner.’</p> - -<p>‘But you are hungry?’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span></p> - -<p>‘And thirsty?’</p> - -<p>‘Very thirsty, I can assure you.’</p> - -<p>Madame Deschwanden caught both his hands in hers, and -shook them enthusiastically.</p> - -<p>‘My own best-beloved brother! I talk of you all day long, -do I not, Madeleine? You, too, Klaus, can bear me witness. -I am rejoiced to hear that you are hungry and thirsty. And -you like thoroughly good dinners?’</p> - -<p>‘Most assuredly, when I can get them.’</p> - -<p>‘And you too?’ she looked at Gabrielle, who whispered -an affirmative.</p> - -<p>‘And you enjoy a really good bottle of wine?’</p> - -<p>‘Trust me,’ answered Stephen.</p> - -<p>‘Then,’ said Madame Deschwanden, hugging her brother -to her heart, ‘the best of everything is yours, at the sign -of the Boot, two doors off, on the right hand, and table-d’hôte -is in half an hour. Terms very moderate.’</p> - -<p>‘But, my sister!’ said the little colporteur, drawing out of her -embrace, and regarding her with a sly look, ‘I have come -to take up my residence with you.’</p> - -<p>‘And dine at the Boot,’ put in the lady. ‘I can confidently -recommend the table there. It is largely patronized by the -most discerning palates.’</p> - -<p>‘But, my sister, I am quite resolved to take my meals -with you.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span></p> - -<p>‘You cannot, indeed!’ exclaimed madame; ‘my cookery -is vile, it is baser than dirt. I am an abject cook.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Josephine, neither Gabrielle André nor I are particular.’</p> - -<p>‘André!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden. ‘Do you tell -me the name of this seraph is André? Is she the daughter -of Matthias André of Les Hirondelles?’</p> - -<p>‘To be sure she is.’</p> - -<p>Madame now cast herself on the neck of the peasant girl, -sobbed loudly, and wept copiously.</p> - -<p>‘To think it is you! the daughter of Matthias, who adored -me, when I was your age. Yes, child; your father when a -young man was my most devoted admirer; but, ah, bah! -every one admired me then, but he above them all. And if -I had accepted him as my husband—to think <em>you</em> might then -have been my daughter. Poor Matthias! how is he?’</p> - -<p>Percenez checked her with a look and shake of the head.</p> - -<p>‘Well, well! we all die, more’s the pity; and your mother—dead -too! Ah well! every sentence ends in a full stop, and so -does the long rigmarole of life. Then in pity’s sake let life be -a Jubilate and not a De Profundis.’</p> - -<p>‘About meals?’ said Percenez. His sister’s countenance fell -at once, but she rapidly recovered.</p> - -<p>‘Exactly. You will hear all the news at the Boot. Superb -place for gossip. Oh you men, you men! you charge us -women with tittle-tattling, and when you get together—’ she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span> -wagged her finger at him and laughed. ‘Now, be quick, -Étienne! my brother, and you, my angel, Mademoiselle -André, and get your dinners over quick, and come here and -tell us the news, and we shall have a charming evening.’</p> - -<p>‘My sister,’ said Percenez, ‘you must really listen to my -proposal. I may be in Paris for weeks—perhaps months. -I intend to pursue my business of selling newspapers and -pamphlets here in Paris for a while, that is, during the session -of the States-General, and I cannot think of troubling you -with my presence as a guest. Will you let us lodge with -you? I will pay you so much a week for my bed and board, -and Gabrielle shall do the same. She has a mission to perform -in Paris, and though I am not sanguine of her success, -nevertheless she must make an attempt. She can join -Madeleine in selling flowers, and I will guarantee that you -are no loser.’</p> - -<p>‘My own most cherished brother!’ exclaimed Madame -Deschwanden; ‘do not think me so mercenary as all that. -Gladly do I urge you to stay here, and join us at our frugal -table. You are welcome to every scrap of food in the larder, -and to every bed in the house. Far be it from me to be -mercenary. I hate the word—I scorn to be thought it. <em>I</em> -care for money! No one has as yet hinted such a thing to -me! No; you are welcome—welcome to a sister’s hospitality. -The terms, by the way, you did not mention,’ she said, in a -lower voice; ‘we have taken in boarders at——’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span></p> - -<p>She was interrupted by the entrance of Corporal Deschwanden, -her husband, a tall, grave soldier, with a face as corrugated -and brown as that of Percenez; his moustaches and -the hair of the head were iron grey, his eyes large and blue, -like his son’s, and lighted with the same expression of frank -simplicity.</p> - -<p>The corporal saluted Percenez and Gabrielle, as his wife -introduced them with many flourishes of the arms and flowers -of eloquence.</p> - -<p>‘You are heartily welcome, sir,’ said the soldier in broken -French; ‘and you, fraulein, the same.’</p> - -<p>Then seating himself at the table he rapped the board with -his knuckles and said, ‘Dinner!’</p> - -<p>Madame Deschwanden and her daughter speedily served a -cold repast in the lower room, the mother making many -apologies for having nothing hot to offer, as she had been -distracted by the Réveillon riot, and now her head was racked -with pain, and she prayed Heaven would speedily terminate her -sufferings with death.</p> - -<p>The old soldier during the meal looked over several times -at Gabrielle in a kindly manner, and treated her with courtesy. -The girl raised her timid eyes to his, and saw them beaming -with benevolence. A frightened smile fluttered to her lips, -and he smiled back at her.</p> - -<p>‘You have come a long way,’ he said; ‘and you must be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span> -tired, poor child! Ah! if you had our mountains to climb’—he -looked at his son Nicholas—‘they would tire your little feet. -Do you remember the scramble we had up the Rhigi, Klaus? -And the lake—the deep blue lake—Ach es war herrlich! And -the clouds brushing across the silver Roth and Engelberger -hörner.’ The old man rose, brushed up his hair on either side -of his ears; his blue eyes flashed, and he sat down again.</p> - -<p>‘Now this is against all rule,’ said Madame Deschwanden; -‘here we are back at that pottering little Switzerland, and -the mountains, and the lake, before dinner is over; we shall -have the glaciers next, and the chamois, and the cowbells, -and the gentians, and of course wind up with the Bruder -Klaus.’</p> - -<p>‘Relaxation,’ said the soldier, rapping the table with his -knuckles, after consulting his watch. ‘Meal-time up; relaxation -begins.’</p> - -<p>‘Then you are going to have the lakes and the cowbells and -the Bruder Klaus!’ said Madame Deschwanden.</p> - -<p>‘It is their time,’ answered the corporal.</p> - -<p>‘Then Madeleine and I are off.’</p> - -<p>‘I will rap for prayers,’ said the corporal.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe7_5" id="dingbat19"> - <img class="w100 p6" src="images/dingbat.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Madeleine</span> and her mother retired to the window, and -beckoned Gabrielle to join them.</p> - -<p>The corporal and the colporteur lit their pipes, and Klaus -with his knife began to cut a head out of a bit of box-wood -he extracted from his pocket.</p> - -<p>‘So, Master Percenez, you have come to witness the great -struggle?’ said the soldier, fixing his blue eyes on the little -man.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, corporal, I have. I am interested in it,—but who is -not? It seems to me that we must fight now, or give in -for ever.’</p> - -<p>‘A fight there will be,’ said the soldier; ‘a fight of tongues -and hard words. Tongues for swords, hard words for bullets. -Did you ever hear how we managed to gain our liberty in -my country? I tell you that was not with speeches, but with -blows. I doubt if your States-General will do much. I do -not think much of talking, I like action.’</p> - -<p>‘And are you free in Switzerland?’ asked Percenez.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ answered Deschwanden, ‘we are free. We gained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span> -our liberty by our swords. Our brave land was subject to -the despotic rule of the Duke of Austria, and we were reduced -to much the same condition as you French are now. -We paid taxes which were exorbitant, we were crushed by -the privileged classes, and robbed of the just reward of our -toil. Then Arnold of Melchthal, Werner Stauffacher, and -Walter Fürst formed the resolution to resist, and lead the -people to revolt, and so they threw off the yoke and became -free.’</p> - -<p>‘Father,’ said Nicholas, ‘do you remember the inn of the -Confederates on the lake, with their figures painted on the -white wall, five times the size of life?’</p> - -<p>‘Ah so!’ exclaimed the corporal; ‘have I not drunk on -the balcony of that same inn over against Grütli? Have I -not seen the three fountains that bubbled up where the Confederates -stood and joined hands and swore to liberate their -country from the oppression of their Austrian governors, to -be faithful to each other, and to be righteous in executing -their judgments on the tyrants?’</p> - -<p>The old man brushed up the hair on either side of his -head, rose to his feet, filled his tumbler with wine, and waving -it above his head, exclaimed joyously:</p> - -<p>‘Here is to the memory of Arnold of Melchthal, Werner -Stauffacher, and Walter Fürst!’</p> - -<p>Percenez and young Nicholas drank, standing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span></p> - -<p>‘Did you ever hear,’ continued the soldier, reseating himself, -‘how William Tell refused to bow to the ducal cap set up -on a pole, the badge of servitude, and how the governor—his -name was Gessler—bade the valiant archer shoot an apple -off his son’s head?’</p> - -<p>‘I have heard the story,’ said the colporteur.</p> - -<p>‘And I have seen the place,’ cried Nicholas; ‘have I not, -father?’</p> - -<p>‘We have both seen the very spot where the glorious -William stood, and where grew the tree against which the -lad was placed. The square is no more. Houses have invaded -it, so that now Tell could not send an arrow from his -standing-point to the site of the tree. Ah! he was a great -liberator of his country, was Tell. Fill your glasses, friends! -To William Tell!’ He rubbed up his hair, rose to his feet, -and drained his glass again.</p> - -<p>‘Have you ever heard how nearly Swiss freedom was lost, -by treachery and gold? You must know that the Confederate -States had vanquished Charles of Burgundy in three great -battles, and had pillaged his camp, which was so full of booty -that gold circulated among the people like copper. The cantons -of Uri, of Schwytz, and Unterwalden—that latter is mine—desired -peace, and those of Lucerne, and Berne, and Zurich -desired to extend the Confederacy; so great quarrels arose, -and soon that union which was the source of their strength<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span> -promised to be dissolved, and civil war to break out, and -ruin Swiss independence. The Confederates were assembled -for consultation, for the last time, at Stanz. The animosity of -party, however, was so great, that after three sessions of angry -debates, the members rose with agitated countenances, and -separated without taking leave of one another, to meet again, -perhaps, only in the conflict of civil war. That which neither -the power of Austria, nor the audacious might of Charles of -Burgundy, had ever been able to accomplish, my people were -themselves in danger of bringing about by these internal dissensions; -and the liberty and happiness of their country stood -in the most imminent peril.’</p> - -<p>‘My faith!’ cried Madame Deschwanden, shrugging her -shoulders, and throwing into her face, as she sat in the -window, an expression of disgust and contempt, ‘they are -getting upon the Bruder Klaus.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, wife,’ said the soldier, turning to her, and brushing up -his hair, ‘glorious Bruder Klaus! Here’s to his—— but no, -you shall hear the story first. So! up the face of a precipice -in the Melchthal lived a hermit, Nicholas von der Flue. And -here I may add that our captain is called by the same name. -Well, then, this hermit, whom we call Brother Nicholas, or, for -short, Brother Klaus, left his cell at the moment of danger, -and sending a messenger before him to bid the deputies -await his arrival, he walked all the way to Stanz without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span> -resting, and entered the town-hall, where the assembly sat. -He wore his simple dark-coloured dress, which descended -to his feet; he carried his chaplet in one hand, and grasped -his staff in the other; he was, as usual, barefoot and bare-headed; -and his long hair, a little touched by the snows of -age, fell upon his shoulders. When the delegates saw him -enter, they rose out of respect, and God gave him such -grace that his words restored unanimity, and in an hour all -difficulties were smoothed away; the land was preserved from -civil war, and from falling again,—as in that case it must have -fallen,—under the power of Burgundy or Austria.’</p> - -<p>‘I have seen the very coat Bruder Klaus wore,’ said Nicholas, -his large blue eyes full of pride and joy.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ said the soldier, triumphantly; ‘we have both seen -his habit; we have seen his body, too, at Sachseln. Fill your -glasses!’ he rubbed up his hair, first over his ears and then -above his forehead and at the back of the head, and starting -to his feet, pledged Bruder Klaus of pious memory. Percenez -and Nicholas joined enthusiastically.</p> - -<p>‘See!’ said the latter, taking his black ribbon from his neck, -and extending the medal to Percenez; ‘on that coin is a representation -of the blessed hermit; that piece has been laid on -his shrine, and has been blessed by the priest of Sachseln.’</p> - -<p>‘Fetch him the statue of the glorious brother!’ cried the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span> -corporal to his son; ‘let him see what blessed Nicholas really -was like.’</p> - -<p>The lad instantly dived out of the room, down a passage, -and presently reappeared with a wooden figure of the hermit, -carved by himself. The face was exquisitely wrought, and -the hands delicately finished. The whole was painted, but -not coarsely.</p> - -<p>‘He was very pale in the face, almost deadly white, and dark -about the eyes,’ said the soldier. ‘We have his portrait, taken -during his life, in the town-hall of Sarnen——’ all at once -the corporal’s eyes rested on his watch.</p> - -<p>‘Herr Je!’ he exclaimed; ‘we have exceeded our time by -three minutes.’ He rapped with his knuckles on the table, and -shouted the order:</p> - -<p>‘Music!’</p> - -<p>Instantly his son Nicholas produced a flute, and warbled on -it a well-known Swiss air. The corporal folded his hands on -his breast, threw back his head, fixed his eyes on the scrap -of blue sky visible above the roofs of the houses opposite, and -began to sing, ‘Herz, mein Herz warum so traurig’—of which -we venture to give an English rendering:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘Heart, my heart! why art thou weary,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Why to grief and tears a prey?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Foreign lands are bright and cheery;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Heart, my heart, what ails thee, say?</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span></p> </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘That which ails me past appeasing!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I am lost, a stranger here;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">What though foreign lands be pleasing,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Home, sweet home, alone is dear.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘Were I now to home returning,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Oh, how swiftly would I fly!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Home to father, home to mother,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Home to native rocks and sky!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘Through the fragrant pine-boughs bending</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I should see the glacier shine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">See the nimble goats ascending</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Gentian-dappled slopes in line;</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘See the cattle, hear the tinkle</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of the merry clashing bells,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">See white sheep the pastures sprinkle</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In the verdant dewy dells.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘I should climb the rugged gorges</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To the azure Alpine lake,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where the snowy peak discharges</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Torrents, that the silence break.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘I should see the old brown houses,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">At the doors, in every place,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Neighbours sitting, children playing,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Greetings in each honest face.</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span></p> </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘Oh my youth! to thee returning,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Oft I ask, why did I roam?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh my heart! my heart is burning</div> - <div class="verse indent2">At the memory of Home.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">‘Heart, my heart! in weary sadness</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Breaking, far from fatherland,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Restless, yearning, void of gladness,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Till once more at home I stand.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>As the old man sang, the tears filled his large eyes, and slowly -trickled down his weather-beaten cheeks. He sat for some -while in silence and motionless, absorbed in memory. Now -and then a smile played over his rugged features.</p> - -<p>‘I remember walking from Beckenreid to Seelisberg one -spring evening,’ he said, speaking to himself; ‘the rocks were -covered with wild pinks. We never see wild pinks here. And -the thyme was fragrant, multitudes of bees swarmed humming -about it. I remember, because, when tired, I sat on the -thyme, and listened to their buzz. Down below lay the deep -blue green lake reflecting the mountains, still as glass. The -bell of Gersau was chiming. The red roofs were so pretty -under the brown rocks of the Scheideck and Hochflue. A -little farther on, upon a mass of fallen rock in the water, in -the midst of a feathery tuft of birch, stood the chapel of -Kindlismord.’ He paused and smiled, and then a great tear -dropped from his cheek to his breast. ‘I saw a foaming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span> -torrent rush through the forest and dart over a ledge and -disappear. The golden clouds overhead were reflected in -the lake. I picked a bunch of blue salvias and a tiger-lily.’ -He drew a heavy sigh, brushed his hair down with his hands, -shook his head, looked at his watch, and rapped the table with -the order:</p> - -<p>‘Prayers!’</p> - -<p>Immediately all rose, and the old soldier led the way down -the passage into Klaus’s workshop.</p> - -<p>Klaus, as has already been said, carved statues for churches. -His room was full of figures, some finished and coloured, -others half done; some only sketched out of the block. On -a shelf stood a row of little saints; but the majority were from -three to five feet high. In the corner was a huge S. Christopher, -carrying the infant Saviour on his shoulder, and leaning -on a rugged staff. His work-table was strewn with tools and -shavings and chips of wood, and the floor was encumbered -with blocks of oak and box, wood shavings and sawdust. -In a niche in the side of the room, on a pedestal, stood a -life-sized figure of the Swiss hermit, the patron saint of the -Deschwandens, with a pendent lamp before it. A crucifix of -ebony and boxwood stood before the little window which -lighted the room, and was situated immediately above his work-table. -The corporal knelt down, followed by his family and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span> -the guests, and recited the usual evening prayers in a firm -voice, ending with the Litany of the Saints.</p> - -<p>After the last response, the corporal made a pause, and -rapped with his knuckles against the bench in front of him, -whereupon Madame Deschwanden rose with a sniff and a great -rustle of her garments, and sailed out of the room, leaning on -Madeleine.</p> - -<p>‘You had better come, too,’ she said to Percenez and Gabrielle; -‘that father and son there have not done yet. They -have their blessed Swiss saints to invoke in their barbarous -jargon. But, as I do not approve either of their tongue or of -their Klauses and Meinrads, Madeleine and I always leave them -to themselves.’</p> - -<p>The colporteur and his little ward rose, but not without -hesitation, for the corporal and his son remained kneeling as -stiff as any of the wooden figures surrounding them, with -hands joined and eyes directed immediately in front of them.</p> - -<p>‘Oh my faith!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, as she -reached the sitting-room; ‘to think that I have been reduced -to this,—to become the spouse of a clockwork-man made of -wood. Heavens! Étienne, the corporal does everything to the -minute; dresses, washes, eats, prays, dreams of his precious -Schweizerland, all by the watch, and I—poor I—I am in -despair. This does not suit me at all.’</p> - -<p>Percenez attempted to console his sister, and she rattled on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span> -with her story of grievance, whilst Gabrielle, musing and not -speaking, heard the solemn voice of the old soldier sounding -from the workshop:</p> - -<p>‘Heiliger Meinrad!’</p> - -<p>And Nicholas’s response: ‘Bitte für uns<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>.’</p> - -<p>‘Heiliger Gallus!’</p> - -<p>‘Bitte für uns.’</p> - -<p>‘Heiliger Beatus!’</p> - -<p>‘Bitte für uns.’</p> - -<p>‘Heiliger Moritz und deine Gefährte!’</p> - -<p>‘Bittet für uns.’</p> - -<p>‘Heiliger Bonifacius!’</p> - -<p>‘Bitte für uns.’</p> - -<p>‘Heilige Verena!’</p> - -<p>‘Bitte für uns.’</p> - -<p>‘Heiliger Bruder Klaus!’</p> - -<p>‘Bitte für uns.’</p> - -<p>Shortly after, the corporal and his son returned to the room. -Gabrielle was sitting by herself in the dusk near the door—in -fact, in that corner of the sofa into which Madame Deschwanden -had driven Nicholas, when she wanted the paper with -roses and jessamine and Brazilian humming-birds.</p> - -<p>The young man walked towards her somewhat awkwardly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span> -and leaning on the arm of the sofa with his back to the -window, said:</p> - -<p>‘You must be puzzled at our relationship in this house.’</p> - -<p>‘I do not quite understand the relationship, I own,’ answered -Gabrielle, shyly.</p> - -<p>‘I am not the son of madame,’ said he, nodding his head -in the direction of Percenez’s sister, ‘nor is Madeleine my -own sister. My father married again, after my mother’s death, -and Madame Chabry was a widow with an only daughter. -Do you understand now?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, thank you.’</p> - -<p>‘I should like to hear your opinion about the box,’ he continued. -‘Do you think we have any right to keep it? Mamma -is set upon it, so is Madeleine, but the question is, have they -any right to it?’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle looked at her shawl, and plucked at the fringe.</p> - -<p>‘You do not like to answer,’ said Klaus.</p> - -<p>‘I think the box ought to be returned,’ she said, timidly, and -in a low, faltering voice.</p> - -<p>A smile beamed on the lad’s broad face. He nodded at her -in a friendly, approving manner, and said, ‘So my father says. -I consulted him in the other room. And now the difficulty -is to get the box away. Observe my father.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle looked towards the corporal; he was standing near -the window, with his back to the table on which the mother-of-pearl<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> -coffer lay, and was engaged in animated conversation -with Percenez, Madame, and Madeleine. Gabrielle observed -that the old soldier made a point of addressing his wife and -daughter-in-law in turn, and then directing an observation to -Percenez. From sentences she caught, the girl ascertained -that the corporal was attacking the French character, and was -especially caustic on the subject of French women. His wife -was at once in a blaze, and Madeleine caught fire. Percenez -took up cudgels on behalf of his countrywomen, but the -soldier was not to be beaten by the three combined. As soon -as the conversation or argument gave symptoms of flagging, -he produced from his armoury some peculiarly pungent remark, -which he cast as a bomb-shell among them, and which at once -aroused a clatter of tongues.</p> - -<p>‘There’s a story told in my country of a man who married -a Frenchwoman,’ said the soldier, fixing his wife with his eye.</p> - -<p>‘I will not listen to your stories,’ said Madame Deschwanden; -‘they are bad, wicked tales. Stop your ears, -Percenez, as I stop mine. Madeleine, don’t listen to him. -A Frenchman uses his tongue like a feather, but a German -or Swiss knocks you down with it like a club.’</p> - -<p>‘There is a story in my country,’ pursued the corporal, -turning composedly towards the colporteur, ‘of a Swiss farmer -who married a French mademoiselle.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! I pity her, poor thing, I do,’ said Madame Deschwanden,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span> -suddenly removing her hand from her ear and fluttering -it in her husband’s face; ‘she doubtless thought him -flesh and blood, and only too late found him out to be a -Jacquemart—a wooden doll worked by springs.’</p> - -<p>‘So!’ continued the soldier, calmly, ‘the man died——’</p> - -<p>‘Of dry rot,’ interpolated madame; ‘there was a maggot -in his head.’</p> - -<p>‘He died,’ the soldier pursued; ‘and then, having left the -earth, he presented himself at the gates of Paradise.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ exclaimed madame; ‘and he found that it was -peopled with Bruder Klauses—like the wooden saints your -boy carves.’</p> - -<p>‘Now you know, Percenez, my good friend, that there is a -preliminary stage souls have to pass through before they can -enter the realm of the blessed; that stage is called purgatory. -So! S. Peter opened the door to the Swiss Bauer and said, -“You cannot come in. You have not been in purgatory!” -“No,” answered the farmer, “but I have spent ten years -married to a French wife.” “Then step in,” said the door-keeper, -“you have endured purgatory in life.”’</p> - -<p>‘I will not listen to you,’ screamed Madame Deschwanden, -resolutely facing the window and presenting her back to her -husband.</p> - -<p>Madeleine followed suit, and was immediately engrossed in -what was taking place in the street.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span></p> - -<p>‘You Frenchwomen!’ called the corporal, tauntingly, as -he stepped backwards with his hands behind him. The -mother and daughter turned abruptly, and facing him exclaimed -together, ‘We glory in the title;’ then reverted to their -contemplation of the street.</p> - -<p>‘Now,’ said Nicholas, in a low voice, ‘observe my father -attentively; he is a skilful general.’</p> - -<p>Corporal Deschwanden retreated leisurely backwards, as -though retiring from the presence of royalty, till he reached -the table, when his hands felt for the casket, and took it up; -then, still fronting the window and the women at it, he sidled -towards the door, keeping the mother-of-pearl box carefully -out of sight.</p> - -<p>Having reached the door, he asked Percenez if he would -accompany him for a stroll. The colporteur gladly consented, -and followed him out of the room.</p> - -<p>The mother and daughter still maintained their position at -the open window, till suddenly the former threw up her hands -with a cry of dismay, sprang abruptly into the middle of the -room, and shrieked out, ‘I am betrayed! the thief! the rogue! -the malicious one! He has carried off the mother-of-pearl -box. I saw it under his arm. He showed it to Étienne, and -laughed as he crossed the street. Madeleine! what shall we -do? We will take poison, and die in one another’s arms!’ -Then, after a volley of shrieks, she fell on her daughter’s neck -and deluged her with tears.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span></p> - -<p>‘I think that was a skilfully-executed manœuvre of my -father’s,’ said Nicholas, aside.</p> - -<p>Gabrielle smiled; but then, observing how distressed was -her hostess, she said, in a low voice, ‘I am afraid your -mother is heart-broken over her loss.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, for half an hour, and then she will have forgotten -all about it. You will see, when my father returns, it will be -with a locket, or a brooch, or a ribbon, and then she will be -all “ecstasy and raptures,” and will kiss him on both cheeks, -and pronounce him the best of husbands.’</p> - -<p>Gabrielle looked up into his face with an expression of -delight in her eyes and on her lips.</p> - -<p>The young man’s eyes rested on her countenance with -pleasure. After a moment’s hesitation, he said:</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle Gabrielle, may I ask you one little favour? -I know I have not deserved it by anything I have done, -but you will confer a debt of gratitude on my father and on -me if you will accede to my request.’</p> - -<p>‘What is it?’ asked the girl, opening her eyes very wide, -and wondering very greatly what he meant.</p> - -<p>‘Will you promise me not to take part with my mother -and Madeleine against the Swiss? My father laughs, and I -laugh, but what they say cuts us,—sometimes deeply. We -are proud of our country;’ he brushed his hair from his brow -and straightened himself, his attitude and action a reproduction<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span> -of his father. ‘We have reason to be proud of -it, and we do not like to be joked about it, and to hear -slurs cast on it. Oh! Mademoiselle Gabrielle, I do not -know why I ask this of you, but I should feel it dreadfully -if you joined them against us, and so, too, would my -father.’</p> - -<p>‘I promise with all my heart.’</p> - -<p>‘That is delightful!’ exclaimed Nicholas, clapping his hands, -whilst a joyous flush overspread his open countenance; ‘and -then, there is something more.’ His face grew solemn at -once. ‘Do not speak against, or make a joke about, Bruder -Klaus. You do not know what a man that was, what a -saint he is, what he did for his country, what a miraculous -life he led, what wonders are wrought yet at his tomb. -You should have seen his portrait—the grave white face, -and the eyes reddened with weeping, and the sunken cheeks! -Oh, Mademoiselle Gabrielle, you may be sure that, among -the greatest of saints, our Bruder Klaus——’</p> - -<p>‘What!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, looking up from -her daughter’s shoulder, as she caught the word; ‘if that boy -is not dinning Bruder Klaus into Mademoiselle André’s ear -already. Was ever a woman so overwhelmed, so haunted as -I am with these ragged old Swiss hermits? I have the nightmare, -and dream that Bruder Klaus is dancing on my breast. -I look out of the window in the dark, and see Bruder Klaus<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span> -jabbering in the gloom, and pointing at me with his stick. I -wish to goodness the precious Bruder had committed a mortal -sin, and his sanctity had gone to the dogs, I do!’</p> - -<p>Nicholas drew nearer to Gabrielle, as though shrinking from -his stepmother’s expressions as impious, and willing to screen -the girl from their pernicious influence. He stooped towards -her, with his great blue eyes fastened on her with intensity of -earnestness, as he whispered:</p> - -<p>‘You will promise me that? Oh! please do, dear mademoiselle!’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly I will,’ answered Gabrielle, frankly looking at -him.</p> - -<p>He caught her hand and kissed it, and then precipitately -left the room.</p> - - -<p class="pfs90 p4">END OF VOL. I.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES:</h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> The window is described from one existing in the north aisle of the church -of S. Foy, at Conches, the stained glass in which church is perhaps the finest -in Normandy.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Holy Meinrad, &c. Pray for us.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center bold">Transcriber’s Notes</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>The Table of Contents at the beginning of the book was created by -the transcriber.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as “boxwood”/“box-wood” -have been maintained.</p> - -<p>Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected -and, except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the -text, especially in dialogue, and inconsistent or archaic usage, -have been retained.</p> -</div> - -<ul> -<li><a href="#tn56">Page 56</a>: “epecially noticeable when a band of girls” changed to -“especially noticeable when a band of girls”.</li> -</ul> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN EXITU ISRAEL, VOLUME 1 (OF 2) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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